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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25439917">thorns just for spite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky'>WhoTheBuckIsStucky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hanahaki Disease AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I'll update it as necessary, Like, M/M, Oh, Slow Burn, VERY brief fleeting eating disorder mention but it's not at all integral to the story, and i guess vomit, baker!johnny, bc i think it fits w the fantastical elements of hanahaki, but like not really i just kind of added in some elements of modern paganism/wicca, florist!taeyong, i just wanted to write this idk, im not even Going Through something im just..., there's a lot of that or at least a similar vibe due to the nature of hanahaki, um... small country town vibes?, warning for blood?, woohoo happy ending confirmed!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:34:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25439917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Taeyong had watched others around him come down with hanahaki disease his whole life; some came out of it just fine, and others didn't come out of it at all. He never thought it would touch his life quite so closely, though. But then, his childhood best friend Johnny comes back from a year abroad, and everything changes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hanahaki Disease AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. matteuccia struthiopteris</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PLEASE. please heed the warnings. that's all i ask.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taeyong wakes to an empty, quiet house. <em> Strange</em>, he muses to himself as he rolls out of bed. It’s nestled in the corner of his room. He got the loft because the master bedroom is on the second floor, and his sister didn’t like the slope of the ceiling. He’s happy with it, though, only having to duck slightly when he reaches across to make his bed. He’s got a window that overlooks their sprawling backyard and their greenhouse, situated on one side, and a big skylight over his bed. His dresser is one his father made by hand, and it sits opposite his bed between his closet and his armchairs. They’d installed a bathroom, too, next to the stairs, so Taeyong didn’t have to navigate the slippery hardwood in the night. He goes to it now, splashing water onto his face and brushing his teeth. The white tile is cool beneath his feet, the light from the small window above the toilet bright enough to fill the little room, even so early in the morning. It’s going to be a beautiful day. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong changes somewhat haphazardly, still not fully awake, and then he pads down to the kitchen. There is a note on the counter from his mother.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Funeral arrangements to be made—got called in early by the mother of a victim of hanahaki. Porridge in the fridge. Come in when able, but don’t rush. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Hanahaki. Flower-vomit disease. Taeyong presses his lips into a thin line, opening the fridge. The porridge is in a big ceramic pot on the second shelf, and he carefully tugs it out and places it on the stove, lighting a match to start the fire under it. It was a rare illness, but deaths were more common in their little town than in big cities. Most people in the city opted for the surgery. The doctors and equipment were better, there was less risk of complications, and they all had very fast-paced lives, knew soon they’d meet somebody else and they’d have a second chance, and another second chance.</p><p> </p><p>Here, it’s different. There are fewer people and typically, those who were old enough to make medical decisions on their own were old enough to have moved away long ago, but chose to stay because the idyllic atmosphere fit their romantic natures. As such, rarely did those afflicted choose to get the surgery. They’d rather die for their love than have it taken away from them. Besides, there’s only one little hospital, and while the doctors and the healers aren’t bad, the equipment sometimes fails, often resulting in not just the standard removal of flowers and feelings for the person in question, but sometimes memories of them as well, or the ability to love altogether.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong knows what he’d choose, of course. He’d never accept the surgery. He decided that long ago, the fear of losing the ability to love much more devastating to him than the fear of dying. Besides, if he ever loved someone so strongly that flowers began to bloom in his lungs for them, he wouldn’t ever want to give that love up.</p><p> </p><p>Some of his friends had, in recent years, come down with hanahaki and overcome it, in one way or another. Yuta had been the most recent—he’d almost died, choking on sunflowers, unwilling to undergo surgery. Taeyong had nursed him through it, and he’d bore witness to Mark’s tearful confession that had saved him. His other friend, Kunhang, had fallen into a one-sided love with a boy at his university, Dejun. His university was in the city, and his mother forced him to get surgery there. He came out of it just fine, and his affection for that boy had been taken away. </p><p> </p><p>“How does it feel?” Taeyong had asked when he’d returned for winter break.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s strange.” Kunhang’s voice had been absent, his expression vacant. “I <em> remember </em> loving him, but… now there’s nothing there. I feel… empty.” He’d given Taeyong an unstable smile. “But I’m not coughing up carnations anymore, so that’s good.”</p><p> </p><p>Of course, there were happy endings, too, and not ones as traumatic as Yuta and Mark’s. When they were in high school, two of Taeyong’s neighbors, Jaemin and Jeno, had begun spitting up cherry blossoms. They’d hid it from their parents, but they’d told one another. Within a week or two, they realized they were in love with each other, and the symptoms disappeared instantly. They’d been together ever since.</p><p> </p><p>And, of course, there were tragic cases, too. Take today’s victim, for example. Taeyong runs it through his mind as he waits for his porridge to cool. The flowers had taken root in their lungs and their heart, and they’d suffocated. Or take Yukhei—his had been a particularly strong case, not just with one type of flower, symbolizing how he felt about his relationship with the one he loved, or perhaps a flower favored by either or both of them; but multiple types, depending on the day and on his mood. Taeyong had seen the carnage of roses for the first time that spring, not just the normal blood that came in late stages of the disease, but blood from the many thorns.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s like in The Little Prince,” Yukhei had rasped out on the way to the hospital, Taeyong in the backseat trying his best to keep him stable. “The prince asks what use flowers have for thorns, and the narrator says that they’re of no use at all, that flowers have thorns just for spite. And the prince gets angry and says that flowers keep their thorns because they need protecting, and they think them to be terrible weapons.” He gave a weak laugh, and another red rose petal had come up and gotten stuck to his lower lip. “The flowers are right. They <em> are </em>terrible weapons. I don’t know how animals can eat them.”</p><p> </p><p>It had worried Taeyong something awful, because Yukhei didn’t like to read. He never said who he’d been so in love with, but Taeyong knew he must have been suffering, even before the disease took hold. And when he came out of surgery, they slowly discovered that he would never love again. It was years ago, and Yukhei had never found interest in another person. But at least he wasn’t dead.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong puts his dishes in the sink, leaving them to soak, and climbs back up the stairs to wash up and pack his bag. Though he feels bad for thinking it, he kind of hopes their customer is gone by the time he gets there. He never knew what to do when someone came in for bouquets for the funeral of a hanahaki victim. It seems sick to him, almost, to adorn their grave with the very thing that killed them.</p><p> </p><p>He steps out the front door and is surprised to see his father in their vast garden. Though some plants in their shop have to be imported, his parents always try to grow as many right in their yard as they can.</p><p> </p><p>His father turns off the hose and waves. “Going to join your mother?” he calls.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Taeyong replies as he laces his shoes. “You didn’t go with her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Garden needs tending,” his father explains. “And… she’s usually better with grief than I am.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods his understanding. “Well, I’m sure Mom will call you in once the customer is gone to help with preparations,” Taeyong said.</p><p> </p><p>His father nods back. “Yeah, I’m sure. Well, don’t let me keep you. She probably needs all the help she can get.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong starts down the little path that leads to the road, closing and latching the gate behind him, and begins the short trek into town. The bustle of people grows louder as the town comes into view, and he smiles, watching the neighbors he’s known his whole life scurry to and fro. The market is alive today, with townsfolk and tourists alike, and he decides he’ll go for some honey sticks later, once things are less busy at the shop.</p><p> </p><p>For now, though, he hurries down the street to the doors of his parents’ flower shop. His sister, Eunyong, had been his mother’s trusted assistant when Taeyong was away at college, but now that he had graduated, she moved to the city to pursue a career in the fashion industry. Taeyong is okay with that, happy to be the one to inherit the shop. He’s a green witch, just like his sister and his mom, so he’s worked with plants his whole life. It’s peaceful work, for the most part, and he loves being surrounded by the blooms, loves the small town and its simplicity.</p><p> </p><p>Today isn’t so peaceful, though. The customer is an older woman, perhaps in her 50s or so, and she clutches a little handkerchief, watching through watery eyes as Taeyong’s mother demonstrates arrangements of non-flowering plants, mostly ferns and grasses. He bows awkwardly to the woman as he passes, but she doesn’t spare him a glance.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Taeyong.” His mother’s voice is even, gentle. “Would you mind fetching some ostrich ferns from the back, please?” To the woman, she adds, “The ostrich fern is a beautiful bright green, and it has long, delicate fronds.”</p><p> </p><p>“It sounds lovely,” the woman agrees.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, her order is placed and she’s out the door. Taeyong’s mother sighs, clearing away debris.</p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” Taeyong ventures to ask, helping her clean up.</p><p> </p><p>“Her daughter,” she says. “She didn’t know until she was already gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s terrible,” Taeyong murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>“She left her a note, at least.” His mother shrugs, and rearranges a few of the bouquets displayed in the window. “Though of course she didn’t say who she was in love with. She found her with white lilies pillowed around her head.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe it was a girl,” Taeyong speculates. “Maybe that’s why she couldn’t say.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe. Maybe she just liked lilies.” Taeyong’s mother brushes her hands off and turns to face him. “It’s always nice to have your help around the shop, but today’s probably going to be slow. The market is popular, so people won’t want to come indoors since it’s so nice out. I can ring your father.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like I have anywhere else to be,” Taeyong points out, confused.</p><p> </p><p>“No, sorry, I should have led with this. Johnny’s back!” His mother gestures to the bakery across the street. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny. Johnny, one of Taeyong’s oldest friends, his neighbor and his classmate. Johnny, who’d stood up to Taeyong’s middle school bullies. Johnny, who was the reason Taeyong hadn’t flunked out of his calculus course in university. Johnny, who’d gone on a yearlong trip abroad to a culinary school so he could take over his parents’ bakery when they retired. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s back.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he squeaks out. “He didn’t text me! I thought he wasn’t coming for another week or two!”</p><p> </p><p>“He wanted to surprise you,” his mother says with a laugh. “Just bad timing with this funeral. Go, go see him. He said he wanted to get back to work right away, but I think he’d appreciate your company.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong already has his hand on the door. “Let me know if you end up needing me!” he calls over his shoulder as the bell on the shop door jingles. He jogs across the street after checking for cars, and ducks into the bakery.</p><p> </p><p>The warm smell of baked goods almost bowls him over as soon as the door closes behind him. Like the flower shop, the bakery is pretty empty today, too, though he knows Johnny’s dad probably opened a stall down at the market.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s mom smiles, coming out from behind the counter when she sees him, arms outstretched. “Taeyong!” She cradles his cheeks in her palms, pressing a quick kiss to one side. Even though he only just saw her last week, she’s acting like it’s been years. She always does, though, and Taeyong always indulges her. “Johnny’s in the back,” she tells him. “He’s excited to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Mrs. Seo. Thank you.” Taeyong tries to ease his strides, fighting against the impulse to run, and slips into the kitchen. Johnny’s got his back to the door, shoulders broader than Taeyong remembers, kneading some dough, but he turns when he hears the <em> whoosh </em> of the doors.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong,” he says softly, eyes sparkling.</p><p> </p><p>“You said not until the end of the month!” Taeyong accuses, wrapping him in a big hug.</p><p> </p><p>“Careful, I’m covered in flour,” Johnny protests, but he’s laughing.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care,” Taeyong says into his chest, petulant. “Jesus, have you been working out or something? Your arms are the size of my head.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re vastly underestimating the size of your head, Taeyong,” Johnny says dryly. “If my arms were the size of your head, I could knock out the Incredible Hulk.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” Taeyong grumbles, settling back against the counter. </p><p> </p><p>“And no, I haven’t been working out. Bread-making is just strenuous,” Johnny quips, punctuating this statement by slamming the ball of dough onto the counter in front of him. “Let me finish this so I can set it to rise, and then how does a cup of coffee sound?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wonderful,” Taeyong replies, happy to watch him work.</p><p> </p><p>“So what have I missed?” Johnny asks as they head down the street, bread dough happily rising under a damp cloth. </p><p> </p><p>“Not much,” Taeyong says. “I told you about Yuta and Mark already.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that was scary,” Johnny says, holding the door to the coffee shop open for him. “I never thought Yuta would be such a romantic.”</p><p> </p><p>“He really was ready to let it kill him,” Taeyong tells him. “I didn’t know what to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good thing Mark came to his senses. You said the flowers grew to the size of your palms.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Taeyong smiles at Kun, who is waiting behind the register. “Kun, look who’s back!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Taeyong. Yeah, he stopped by this morning. Told me to keep my mouth shut.” Kun grins. “What can I get you guys? It’s on the house, my mom would kill me if she found out I was making my friends pay.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong rolls his eyes, letting Johnny order while he fishes out a few bills and shoves them in the tip jar. “No take-backsies!” He hops out of reach when Kun raises a hand to smack him.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny follows him to a booth in the corner, drinks in hand, and slides in across from him, handing him his cold brew.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Taeyong says. “How was culinary school?”</p><p> </p><p>“Good.” Johnny smiles really big. “I learned so much! And I had so much fun. I have so many ideas for new items at the bakery. Some of them I made when I was there, but others, I’m going to need a test subject. Are you in?”</p><p> </p><p>“As long as you don’t poison me,” Taeyong jokes. </p><p> </p><p>“I will try my best,” Johnny promises, and Taeyong laughs. </p><p> </p><p>“Meet anybody while you were there?” Taeyong asks, a little nervously.</p><p> </p><p>“Not really,” Johnny says. “I was too busy with all my classes. Besides, most of them were pretty cutthroat. I just wanted to make cute bread loaves, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fair.” Taeyong takes a sip of his coffee.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, by the way.” Johnny says. “My mom wants you and your family over for dinner tonight. She told me to tell you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can help cook,” Taeyong offers immediately. “You can outdo me, and your mom can try to convert me into being a kitchen witch. It’ll be just like old times.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” The corners of Johnny’s eyes crinkle sweetly with his smile and the familiar shape comforts Taeyong’s heart. “Just like old times.”</p><p> </p><p>That night, in the warmth of the Seos’ kitchen, cedar-scented candles flickering, Taeyong finally feels like his life is back on track. He doesn’t have to miss his best friend anymore. His work at the shop is coming along nicely, and the spring has been a good one. The summer will be hot but not scorching, and on warm days he and Johnny can go to the beach until they’re sun-drunk and tired, and then they can come back and have homemade ice cream, maybe visit Jaehyun’s ranch a little ways out of town in the evenings to hang out with his horses, Johnny’s bread as payment. They can watch the stars and make up for the months they spent apart.</p><p> </p><p>It’ll be good. Just like old times.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! you can find my tumblr (and link to buy me a coffee if you wish) <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. narcissus pseudonarcissus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taeyong doesn’t see much of Johnny over the course of the next week. He’s busy reworking the menu for the bakery with his parents, and teaching them some of his new recipes. Taeyong doesn’t mind; he’s got his hands full helping his parents with normal shop business while they fill the order for the funeral bouquets. He’s in the middle of making a few protective charms—simple jar spells, when the door of the shop opens with a light ring of the bell. Taeyong looks up from his work to see Johnny.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he says. “You busy? Do you want to come to the market with me? I want new spices.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong smiles. “One sec,” he says, melting a little wax over a flame and drizzling it over the corked bottle. “I’ll pick up some herbs while we’re there.” He sets the spoon aside, cleaning out the excess wax before it cools, and stands. </p><p> </p><p>“What’re you making?” Johnny asks curiously as they step outside.</p><p> </p><p>“Protection charms,” Taeyong replies. “Nothing too crazy. It’s for a family of tourists who are passing through. I guess they heard about us from locals or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s really cool.” Johnny’s eyes shine. “I never really got the feel for magic, even though my mom tried to teach me.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong gives him a pointed look. “You’re insanely good at cooking. That’s its own magic.”</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose so.” </p><p> </p><p>The market is a little quieter today; it’s the middle of the week, so there aren’t a whole lot of outsiders about, and it’s a little overcast today, so most people haven’t wandered out of their homes or their shops. A few familiar shopkeepers wave their hellos, and Taeyong and Johnny wave and bow back. They head to the spice stall, and Taeyong mulls over the dried rosemary and sage bundles while Johnny sticks his face in open baskets of cinnamon and cardamom and star anise. He giggles when Johnny jerks his head back suddenly, turning to sneeze into his elbow. </p><p> </p><p>“Dumbass,” he mutters fondly, showing the worker at the stall the herbs he wanted and handing over his money. “You know what all of those spices smell like.”</p><p> </p><p>“Some I can only identify by smell,” Johnny says sheepishly as the other worker helps him package what he needs.</p><p> </p><p>When they’re all set, they stop quickly to get honey for Taeyong, and then they’re on their way back to their stores. They walk in sweet, amiable silence, pausing to pet a dog that comes up to them before continuing on down the street.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Johnny says when they reach the front door of his bakery. “Tonight, are you free? I want to go for a drive. Maybe end up at Jaehyun’s.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong gives him a grin. “Yeah, I’m free. Does Jaehyun know about this plan?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll text him,” Johnny says with a laugh. “Make it incredibly clear that we are there to see Sugarfoot and Lacey, and definitely not his dumbass.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t know how easily he’ll buy that, considering Sugarfoot kicked you the last time you saw her, but okay,” Taeyong says. “I’ll see you around eight then, after dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like a plan.” Johnny waves at him as he pushes the door of his shop open, and Taeyong waves back before crossing the street.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong snatches a light jacket at his mother’s bidding, bottle of cider in his other hand, as Johnny honks from the road. He promises he’ll be back in a few hours, then closes the door behind him, shoving his feet into his shoes hurriedly and scampering down the path.</p><p> </p><p>The sun is setting, but Johnny has sunglasses on, his windows rolled down, sleeves of his white t-shirt rolled up. Taeyong hops into the passenger seat, throwing his jacket in the back and cradling the bottle of cider. </p><p> </p><p>“What’d Jaehyun say?” he asks as Johnny turns the car around and heads toward the hills.</p><p> </p><p>“I said, ‘Can Taeyong and I come over to hang out with Sugarfoot and Lacey and definitely not our childhood friend?’ and he said, ‘miss you too, see you tonight,’ so.” Johnny shrugs. “Clearly he’s <em> very </em>unenthused.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong laughs. Jaehyun is an old, old friend of theirs, and his parents have a sprawling property that they use as a farm. They have two horses—Sugarfoot, mean and bratty, and Lacey, an absolute angel. Naturally, Johnny loves Sugarfoot because she doesn’t love him back. They always used to joke Johnny would get hanahaki for Sugarfoot—long before they’d faced the realities of the disease.</p><p> </p><p>Jaehyun’s parents were planning to move away to retire within the next year, which leaves the farm to Jaehyun. Luckily, Jaehyun is strong and loves the work, so they’re leaving it in good hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, also,” Johnny continues. “You know the spare room above the bakery, upstairs? I’m going to clean it out and live there instead of in my parents’ house. I just feel like I’m too old to live with them—no offense,” he adds quickly when Taeyong gives him a hurt look. “I just want a little independence. I guess being away from home for so long changed me.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Your year abroad did not change you in the slightest. You sound like a racist white girl.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s so rude. <em> You </em> asked if I’d been working out! Clearly, it did change me!” Johnny fends off Taeyong’s half-hearted punches. “Anyway, my point is if you ever want to come hang out, or stay the night, you’re perfectly welcome. That is, if you stop punching me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a deal,” Taeyong agrees, hands returning to his lap.</p><p> </p><p>They are away from houses now; open fields blur by as Johnny presses on the gas. Warnings or threats to be more careful die in Taeyong’s throat. He trusts Johnny. He’ll get them there in one piece, and it’s kind of nice, the wind in Taeyong’s hair. He can’t help but laugh, and Johnny starts laughing, too.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve missed driving,” Johnny confesses. “It was the worst part of being away. I couldn’t just go for a drive whenever I started feeling restless. Well,” he amends with a sideways glance at Taeyong. “It was the worst part of being away other than missing you.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong is grateful for the growing dark, because for some reason it makes him blush. “I missed you too,” he says delicately. “Take your sunglasses off, or you’re gonna get us killed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, mom,” Johnny says, one hand leaving the steering wheel to push them back through his hair so that they’re perched on top of his head. Taeyong watches, and can’t help thinking he looks handsome, golden sunset dancing off his skin.</p><p> </p><p>They arrive at Jaehyun’s as the last of the sun fades on the horizon. Jaehyun is out front, playing with one of his dogs, and he waves when they get out of the car.</p><p> </p><p>“We come bearing gifts,” Taeyong calls to him, holding the cider bottle up in the air so he can see. “How are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m good!” Jaehyun jogs over to them, accepting the bread Johnny thrusts into his arms. “It’s good to see you, Johnny. And I haven’t heard from you in a while, Taeyong. Everything okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods. “Yeah, shop’s just been busy. A girl… a girl died, and we got a large order for bouquets.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Jaehyun purses his lips as he takes the cider bottle from Taeyong and gestures for them to follow him. “Did you know her?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Taeyong says. “She’s a lot younger than us. It was… it was hanahaki. White lilies.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” Jaehyun says, probably thinking what Taeyong had thought when his mother first told him. If he is, he doesn’t mention it, though. “That’s the first death this year. The first in a few, actually, right? Well, it’s the worst reason to be busy, but busy alone isn’t bad, hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Taeyong agrees.</p><p> </p><p>“How are things here?” Johnny asks, trying to steer the conversation somewhere happier. “You look well.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been so good, taking over some of the day-to-day,” Jaehyun says, pushing his front door open with his hip. “I’ll miss my parents, of course, but I think it’s going to be fun, to run this place.”</p><p> </p><p>“It suits you,” Johnny says.</p><p> </p><p>“And I think my parents will be happy in retirement. No large animals to care for. Myself included,” he adds with a light laugh. “One sec, let me put this away—thank you both very much, by the way—and then we can go see the horses.” Jaehyun puts the bread on the counter, and then slots the cider away in the fridge. He leads them out to the barn, where both horses are snacking away, tails swishing.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong watches Johnny get reacquainted with Sugarfoot, smile dancing across his lips, staying back by the door with Jaehyun. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s good to have him back,” Jaehyun says quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Taeyong agrees. “I was worried he’d go… and he’d just stay.“</p><p> </p><p>Jaehyun smiles. “He’s too in love with this place to do that,” he says. “And he’s got the biggest heart in the world. He’d miss us too much.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny yelps, and both of them snap their heads in his direction, worried. But he’s fine—Sugarfoot has her nose in his neck, and he’s giggling from how it tickles. Taeyong lets his gaze linger, holding back laughter, before turning back to Jaehyun.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks when he finds Jaehyun’s eyes on him.</p><p> </p><p>“Sugarfoot missed him a lot, I guess. You missed him a lot, too, didn’t you?” is all he says in return, and Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond to that.</p><p> </p><p>After a little, Jaehyun ushers them outside, where the stars are coming up, and the moon is rising. He spreads a blanket on the lawn and they lie shoulder to shoulder, Johnny gushing that he missed the night skies so much. Taeyong and Jaehyun quiz him on the constellations for an hour as the moon climbs in the sky, the clouds clearing away as it gets later.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is warm against Taeyong’s side, and it’s welcome now, the cool breeze dancing across Taeyong’s skin and raising little goosebumps with its delicate touch. He snuggles closer on instinct, and Johnny just wraps an arm around him, holding him close. It’s so comfortable and easy, and he thinks about what Jaehyun said. He knew he’d missed Johnny, but he supposes he didn’t really know how much. He’d engulfed himself in his work when Johnny left, so it made sense that he was only now discovering how lonely he’d been.</p><p> </p><p>After a while, he insists they go home. “It’s getting late,” he says, when Jaehyun protests. “I know you’re an early riser. And I don’t want Johnny driving when he’s too tired. It’s dangerous enough in the dark.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, get home safe,” Jaehyun says, waiting for them to stand so he can shake off the blanket. “Thank you again for the food. Come by more often! Maybe I’ll host a dinner or something sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>“That would be nice,” Johnny says. “We could get all our old friends together—all the ones that still live here, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know if you want that many noisy people in your house, but I won’t stop you.” Taeyong shakes his head.</p><p> </p><p>They wave goodbye, and Johnny pulls away from Jaehyun’s gate and into the night. He turns on the radio, and Taeyong is lulled by the sound of Johnny’s soft voice, smoothing the static. He watches the movement of Johnny’s lips through lidded eyes, the working of his throat. Johnny catches him looking and gives him a charming smile, and Taeyong’s stomach does a flip.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Johnny asks, tilting his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Tomorrow,” Taeyong chooses to say. “If it’s nice and you’re not busy, or the day after, if it’s not. Let’s go to the beach. We can have a picnic.”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely.” Johnny’s smile is bright and full of anticipation. </p><p> </p><p>Too soon, they pull up in front of Taeyong’s house. The lights are off inside already, but Taeyong can’t feel guilty. They’re still for a moment in the car, and some strange, terrible feeling washes over him and mixes with his weariness from the long day. It collects in his chest, in his throat. Johnny’s looking at him but almost sort of looking through him, and Taeyong’s looking back, frozen. Johnny’s beautiful in the moonlight. The feeling in Taeyong’s chest grows, and he trembles.</p><p> </p><p>And then Johnny just reaches out and pats his arm, eyes focusing back on him. “Go straight to bed, okay?” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong smiles. “Yes, mom.” He opens the car door and swings one leg out. “Get home safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“I live down the street, Taeyong,” Johnny says, chuckling to himself. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Goodnight.” Taeyong closes the door then bends to wave so that Johnny can see him through the window. He takes a couple steps toward his house, and then stops to watch him drive off.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sluggishly gets himself ready for bed, throwing his clothes in a pile on the floor, taking a cursory shower, and tugging on a nightshirt. He’s suddenly exhausted, and he doesn’t know why. The feeling in his chest hasn’t gone away, either.</p><p> </p><p>He’s about to settle into bed and turn off the lights, having received a text from Johnny that he is, in fact, home safe, when he starts coughing, violently. It’s almost like when he was little and he had pertussis; he’s drawing in huge breaths of air and hacking them back out, the force of it reverberating in his lungs. He covers his mouth with his hands, doubled over, and feels something hit his palms.</p><p> </p><p>As quickly as the coughing bout hit him, it dissipates, leaving him shaking in his room, cupping three pale, yellow petals. He doesn’t have to check an almanac or Google to know what they are. <em> Narcissus pseudonarcissus. </em> Wild daffodil. A strain of daffodil native to Western Europe, almost weed-like, but a daffodil all the same. In Japanese <em> hanakobota</em>, representative of unrequited love.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong could have cried, maybe, as he holds his death in his own hands. To have the flower be so fitting! It’s like the universe wants to drive it home. But, he realizes numbly, as he wraps the petals in a tissue and buries them in the trash, somewhere in the back of his mind he had a feeling he would die this way. <em> Because you want to die for love, you always have</em>. Richard Siken. He always has. And now, he will.</p><p> </p><p>It puts a wry smile on his lips.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! pls lmk what you think! also feel free to check out my other works ^^ you can find my tumblr <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>, where you can also find a link to my buy me a coffee if you're so inclined~</p><p>hope everyone is staying safe n healthy! (jaehyun voice: selfy!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. convallaria majalis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>More petals surface in the morning. It’s only two, right when he first wakes up, trapped in his throat while he slept. He tosses them the same way and hopes his parents are already gone so they don’t hear him coughing. He has time, still. There’s no blood yet. The petals are small, almost premature. Maybe—maybe he can find a returned love, and it will be okay.</p><p> </p><p>The worst part is, he doesn’t quite know who it’s for. Surely not Jaehyun—he’d seen him all summer. Most of his other friends wouldn’t fit the bill, either. The only thing that’s changed is that Johnny was back. It couldn’t be Johnny, because he’d known him his whole life. If he loved him, it would have set in long ago. It wasn’t contagious or anything, so it couldn’t be connected to the death of that girl. Perhaps it was a boy he’d seen in the shop a week prior? He had, now that he thought about it, seen him out of the corner of his eye when he and Johnny were at the market the day before. But how could it be love when he didn’t know him?</p><p> </p><p><em> Then who? </em> Taeyong mulls it over as he gets dressed. The sky is clear and it’s fixing to be warm. He wonders if Johnny is up as he heads down to the kitchen to brew some tea. Maybe he’ll make some hibiscus lemonade for them to enjoy at the beach.</p><p> </p><p>His phone rings, and Taeyong picks up. “Hey Johnny,” he says, wondering vaguely if Johnny can read his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey! We still on for the beach today?” Johnny’s happy voice comes over the speakers of his phone, and it distracts Taeyong from his worries for a moment. “It’s gorgeous out. I’ll bring some fresh pastries and things.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes to all,” Taeyong says, giggling. “I can make lemonade, and I’ll bring blankets and towels and stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Awesome,” Johnny says, fainter this time, like he’s far away from the phone. “I’m putting the bread in now, so how about I come get you in an hour?”</p><p> </p><p>“Works for me.” Taeyong turns the fire off under the kettle. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, see you then!” Johnny hangs up, and Taeyong sets his phone down on the counter with a soft clack.</p><p> </p><p>The looming worry is back as soon as he’s alone again, but his lungs are still, so he goes about his morning, packing towels and sunscreen, and plenty of water. He’s searching for his sunhat when Johnny texts him that he’s outside, so he forgoes it, grabbing a baseball cap instead and carrying all his things out onto his front porch.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s sauntering down the path, car parked on the road, one arm outstretched.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me take something,” he says, lifting the picnic basket from where it’s hung on Taeyong’s arm before he can argue. “Anything life-shattering happen in the 12 hours since we last saw each other?” he asks, jokingly, as they stroll to his car.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Johnny really <em> can </em>read his mind. Taeyong looks at him curiously, but Johnny seems blithe, and his comment holds no weight. “No,” he says, forcing himself to laugh. “Well, I couldn’t find my sunhat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, devastating.” Johnny puts the basket on the floor of the backseat next to his own and slides into the driver’s seat. “Ready?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ready,” Taeyong agrees. Johnny pulls away from the gate, wheels crunching over the dirt, and heads for the coast.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny tells him about how they’ve placed an order for new menus, and how he’s gotten a friend to redo the signs that hang behind the counter. “I think it would be cute,” he says. “If I made bread shaped like flowers. And then, when people comment on them, I’ll point them across the street to your shop.”</p><p> </p><p>A sweet ache blooms in Taeyong’s ribcage, pure joy that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. “That <em> is </em> really cute,” he mumbles. “And then I can tell all of my customers about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right? It would be nice.” Johnny smiles, squinting at the horizon. “I’m so excited for… for my life, I don’t know. I love the certainty—I’ll get to wake up and do what I love every day, surrounded by my friends. What else could I ask for?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong bites his lip and doesn’t respond, just hums. How <em> can </em> he respond? What can he say? It would be cruel to pretend everything will be just fine, forever and ever. It would be cruel to promise he would always be there when he knows he’s only got six months, if that. And he can’t tell him. He can’t tell anybody; they’d only worry and try to convince him to get the surgery, even when Taeyong’s mind is already made up. It would be nothing but painful; it would only make it worse.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong?” Johnny says. “Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong plasters a bright smile to his face. “Yes, yeah. I just haven’t quite woken up yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, maybe if I throw you in the sea, it’ll help.” Taeyong realizes they’re pulling into the parking lot. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to throw me, I’ll go willingly,” Taeyong says. “You don’t have to prove you’re stronger than me; I already know.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny just laughs, turning the car off and stepping out into the sunlight. “Well, I’ll hold you to that. C’mon, help me grab these things.”</p><p> </p><p>Together, they carry all their food and supplies down onto the hot sand, trudging and trying not to slip and fall as their footing grows unsteady. Johnny picks a nice, even spot a good few meters away from the water, and helps Taeyong spread the towels, plunking their baskets down on top so they don’t blow away. </p><p> </p><p>“One of us has to stay here and watch our stuff,” Johnny says, kind of wistfully. “You first, or me first?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sunscreen first,” Taeyong says firmly, fishing the bottle out of his bag and brandishing at Johnny. “No skin cancer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, right.” Taeyong can’t tear his eyes away when Johnny tugs off his shirt, balling it up and throwing it into the open mouth of his backpack. The lean muscles of his back and his arm ripple under his perfect skin, and for some reason, Taeyong wants to reach out and <em> touch</em>. <em> Why? </em>He’d never looked at Johnny like this before. He doesn’t do it, though, just squeezes some sunscreen into Johnny’s now-outstretched hands, and then takes some for himself, ducking his head so he won’t have to watch Johnny apply it to his chest. “Can you get my back?” Johnny asks, and Taeyong swallows.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sure.” He moves behind him, shuffling awkwardly on his knees, and spreads sunscreen between his shoulder blades, hand splayed. Johnny’s skin is already warm, and Taeyong doesn’t know why he wants to sink his nails in. He schools the impulse, rubbing the lotion in until there’s no trace save for a pretty glistening sheen.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny returns the favor, and then shoos him to the water. “You first, you seem like you need it,” he says, lying back on the towel and blindly digging around in his picnic basket for a pastry. </p><p> </p><p>There’s clearly no arguing with him, so Taeyong just kicks off his flip flops, folding his sunglasses neatly and placing them next to his bag, and trots off towards the sea. The water is cold against his toes—it’s still early summer and the chill hasn’t disappeared yet—but he pushes forward, wading in until he’s up to his chest, letting the foam tickle his chin. It’s nice; it almost feels like an embrace. He’s a green witch, yes, mostly working with the earth and the things that grow in it, but he’s always had a deep love for the ocean, a deep respect. The water makes him feel safe, and for one split second, he forgets that he’s dying.</p><p> </p><p>After a few minutes of floating, he swims back to shore, figuring he ought to give Johnny a chance. The sun is high and powerful now, beating down against his skin and drying him almost instantly, the salt from the water crusting in his hair and in streaks down his arms as he makes his way back to their towels.</p><p> </p><p>He sits next to Johnny, tapping him on the leg as he gets settled. “You go,” he says when Johnny raises his eyebrows. “I want lemonade.”</p><p> </p><p>He watches fondly as Johnny springs to his feet, dusting crumbs and powdered sugar from his hands, quickly making his way down the beach. Taeyong takes a glass from his basket, uncorking the bottle of lemonade and pouring it in, almost to the top of the rim. He finds a metal straw—pink for him, the blue one reserved for Johnny—and drops it in, then takes a long sip. It’s good, sweet and cooling, and Taeyong closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Not a minute passes before Taeyong hears approaching footfalls, and he cracks an eye open to see Johnny running up to him. He manages to steal a sip of Taeyong’s drink, even though he can just grab one for himself. Taeyong gives a little shout of protest, but Johnny’s already back on his feet, laughing, head thrown back and mouth wide open, halfway down to the water. Taeyong laughs, too, but it turns into coughing.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly, he turns his back on the ocean, pretending he’s rummaging through the picnic basket, and cups his hands around his mouth. He heaves, and feels the flowers shoot up from his trachea. </p><p> </p><p>Again, as soon as the petals are up, the coughing fit disappears instantly. He peers cautiously into his hands, and is surprised to see not the yellow of a daffodil, but a cluster of little white bell-shaped blossoms. They’re lilies of the valley, pure and sweet.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s heart drops to his stomach at 100 miles an hour. This tells him two things. One: he’s much worse off than he thought he was. If the flowers change, it means his feelings are strong. He probably has even less time than he originally thought. This realization is both terrifying and relieving—at least he won’t have as long to wait. Two: he’s in love with Johnny.</p><p> </p><p>It’s heartbreaking, and the instant he realizes it, it becomes the most true thing in the world. It’s a punch to the gut. How could it be anybody else? How could he have dismissed the option without a second thought like that this morning? Johnny, and his gentle hands, his broad shoulders and long legs, his sweet smile that he can never hide, the way his eyes nearly close with it but there’s still a sparkle to them. Johnny and his baking, Johnny and the way he cares about people, quiet but sure. Johnny. His best friend.</p><p> </p><p><em> Yes</em>, Taeyong thinks as he lets the wind snatch the little blossoms away, the beautiful, terrible manifestation of this truth, <em> I could die for him. </em></p><p> </p><p>He wonders vaguely why it only started now, but it would make sense that his body hadn’t even realized how in love he was until now. They had been young before, and busy, and now that they are both finally beginning to settle, it’s given Taeyong the chance to actually do something ridiculous like catch feelings. And it makes sense that finally having him back would jumpstart something like this, too. </p><p> </p><p><em> You know, maybe you do get a happy ending. Maybe he’ll love you, too</em>, a little voice in his head pipes up, but Taeyong quashes it under his heel, grinding it into oblivion. He can’t afford to be hopeful. It’ll make him let down his guard, and if he lets down his guard, Johnny will find out, and then it’ll all be over.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s circling back from the water again, but he slows and drops down beside Taeyong this time, stretching out on the towel and catching his breath. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s so nice today,” he comments placidly, blissfully unaware of Taeyong’s inner turmoil. “We should do this more, whenever we can get away. Just us. Or with other friends. But also, just us.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods his agreement. “I’d like that,” he says, busying himself with a piece of bread so he doesn’t say anything else.</p><p> </p><p>They’re there for hours, diligently reapplying sunscreen, taking turns in the water, slowly but steadily finishing their food. Taeyong feels blind from the sunlight, and sluggish from how much he’s eaten, but he doesn’t mind. He might as well enjoy himself while he can.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s dozing when Johnny touches his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, voice soft as always. “We should probably head home.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong lifts his head and he sees that Johnny’s already packed everything up, except for the towels they’re lying on. He’s propped up on one elbow, and Taeyong has to rip his eyes from the curve of his waist. His hair is wavy and it’s fallen in his eyes and Taeyong wishes he could kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he says, pushing himself up. “Thank you for cleaning up. You should’ve woken me.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny just smiles. “I don’t mind,” he says easily. They shake out their towels together and fold them, picking the rest of their items up off the sand. “You could come stay at mine tonight,” Johnny offers. “We can share the bed like when we were kids. We can watch a movie. I just got everything moved in upstairs.”</p><p> </p><p>And Taeyong thinks, <em> why not? </em>Johnny’s a heavy sleeper; if he has to slip away in the night to vomit up the flowers he’s growing for him, he probably won’t notice. And he doesn’t feel like going home and being alone, not after today. That would probably be the smart thing to do, but he can’t bear it. So he says, “I’d like that a lot,” and Johnny’s smile spreads wider. </p><p> </p><p>They shove everything in the car, and Johnny turns the A/C up high so they can cool off as they drive back to town. They stop at Taeyong’s so he can drop off some dirty dishes and get a change of clothes. His parents are home, and they immediately shoo him off when he tries to ask for permission.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re almost twenty-three,” his mom says, mirth in her eyes. “Just go.” She presses a bottle of aloe into his palm. “You’re red,” she explains when Taeyong just stares at it. “I know you probably don’t feel it yet, but you will tonight. I’m guessing Johnny’s even worse.”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably,” Taeyong mumbles sheepishly. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny drives them to the bakery, and parks out back. The store is dark but the smell is still there, sweet and consuming, welcoming them inside as they hover at the bottom of the stairs while Johnny quickly sets the alarm.</p><p> </p><p>Once they’re in the light of Johnny’s little apartment, Taeyong can see their sunburns clearly. It’s almost laughable, the red that stretches across the tops of his cheeks. “We fucked up,” he says to Johnny as they examine themselves in the mirror.</p><p> </p><p>“We did our best,” Johnny protests, making a sad face, then wincing. “We reapplied every hour!”</p><p> </p><p>“I think we need to invest in something more waterproof.” Taeyong sighs. “You go ahead and shower first. I’m gonna unpack my things and set up the movie. Is Totoro ok?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny meets his eyes in the mirror, his lips curled up sweetly, indulgent. “Totoro sounds good,” he says. They hold each other’s gaze for a second, and then they both move away; Taeyong, back to the bedroom, and Johnny deeper into the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong unzips his bag and looks around. Johnny’s done a good job of cleaning up. There’s spare supplies and a few boxes in the corner, stacked to the right of the closet doors. His mattress is against the wall, perched on a large wooden pallet, clean, cream-colored sheets tucked neatly around the corners. There’s a window on the opposite wall that looks down onto the street. The door where they entered that leads to the stairs is adjacent to the door to the bathroom. Taeyong remembers when they were younger, the bathroom had been smaller, but Johnny’s dad decided to renovate it, punching the wall out so that it was a clean line down the room from the door instead of pocketing out halfway through. Johnny’s pushed a large, but short dresser against the new wall, and situated his TV on top. A small couch sits facing the TV in the center of the room, and a tall bookshelf leans against the wall behind it. Taeyong goes to the bookshelf, searching through Johnny’s collection of DVDs for the one he wants. He pops the disc into the player and navigates to the opening credits, then sets the remote down and takes out his toiletries and change of clothes. </p><p> </p><p>The shower is still running, so he crosses the room to the window. Johnny’s set up a small table and a couple little stools beside it, so Taeyong slides onto one, gazing down at the street below, absently running his finger along the cool, smooth handle of Johnny’s French press. There’s a little shelf to the right of the window and Taeyong sees mugs and a few bags of coffee, along with an electric kettle stored away. He smiles, imagining Johnny sitting in that very seat as the sun rises, waiting for his coffee to brew, mug cradled in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong faintly registers the water shutting off and a few moments later, Johnny emerges from the bathroom, humming softly, a fluffy blue towel slung low on his hips. He crosses to his closet and rummages for a moment, producing another towel, this one pure white, and holds it out to Taeyong.</p><p> </p><p>“Here,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong stands, accepting it, trying to look anywhere but at Johnny, scoops his clothes up off the bed and quickly retreats to the bathroom before he can do something stupid.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s fixed up the bathroom, too. Taeyong had only stood in the doorway earlier, where the full-length mirror was, so he hadn’t seen the extent of the change. He’d gotten a new sink installed, and cleaned up the frame of the little mirror above it. The tub was new, too, nestled in the corner opposite the shower. It was large and rectangular, with ample counter room and a pretty silver faucet. Maybe one day Johnny’d let him use it.</p><p> </p><p>He tugs off his sandy clothing and steps into the shower, keeping the water cool to soothe his sunburns. He kind of doesn’t want to leave because he knows there’s going to be a little awkward barrier between him and Johnny tonight that Johnny won’t understand.</p><p> </p><p><em> That’s the worst part of this</em>, he thinks as he steps back out and wraps himself up in the towel. <em> It’s not the fact that he doesn’t love me back. It’s not even the fact that I’m dying. It’s that before I die, it might put such a wedge between us that I lose my best friend along the way. </em></p><p> </p><p>He looks over his naked reflection. He still looks healthy—and he didn’t expect anything else. It’s only been a day. He knows in time he’ll grow emaciated, the flowers making it hard for him to eat and draining him of nutrients. He’ll get perpetual dark circles and his knees and knuckles will get bruised and cut up from the time he’ll spend kneeling, coughing up petals and blood, and scrubbing the debris from his hands.</p><p> </p><p>But right now, he just looks like a normal boy, sunburnt but healthy, cheeks full and red. He dresses gingerly, fabric brushing against sensitive skin and sending splotches of pain across his body. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s still shirtless when Taeyong comes back out into the room, though thankfully he’s found shorts, at least. His back is a bright, angry scarlet and Taeyong stifles a giggle.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you help me?” Johnny holds out the aloe to him with a pleading look, and Taeyong nods. They help each other get hard-to-reach spots, tapping the gel in with their fingertips. It’s warm, even despite Johnny’s air conditioning, but Taeyong shivers anyway, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Once they’re treated, they settle on the couch and play the movie. The sun is working on setting, and it lights the room with a gorgeous orange glow. Taeyong is tucked into Johnny’s side, head resting on his sturdy shoulder. Even though he napped on the beach, Taeyong is still tired, and he feels his eyelids growing heavy.</p><p> </p><p>When he opens his eyes again, the room is dark. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he blinks rapidly, trying to peer into the dim light. He realizes that Johnny’s stretched out behind him, one arm slung carelessly over his waist, the other bent back for his head to rest on. He’s fast asleep, Taeyong sees when he twists around, lips barely parted. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong feels his chest tighten, and he quickly slips from the bed, trying to hold back a cough, going as fast as possible without being disruptive, and slips out the door and down the stairs. </p><p> </p><p>As soon as he’s far enough away, he lets go, letting the coughs wrack his body. Even through the fear and the misery, he gets an image in his head of his cat when she’s about to vomit, and the next cough comes out accompanied by rasping laughter and flowers.</p><p> </p><p>It’s the lilies of the valley again, five or six blooms, scent cloying and wet. When the fit passes, he pads into the kitchen and throws them away in the trash. One stays stuck to his palm, and he rolls it between his fingers for a moment, watching it flash in the moonlight, almost blindingly white. It’s such a pretty flower. In a way, he’s glad that his flowers will shift and change. He never much liked daffodils, and Johnny deserves the best and most beautiful flowers in the world. </p><p> </p><p>He finally tosses it with the rest of them, and heads back upstairs. Johnny doesn’t wake when he crawls back into bed, only shifts slightly, drawing Taeyong close again, wrapping his arm back around him. Protective, even in his sleep. His hand is mere inches from where Taeyong’s love is strangling him, and there’s something almost poetic about it. Taeyong’s too tired to find the words, though, and he quickly drifts back off to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks as always for reading! pls check out my friend's part in this (just click next down at the bottom!!)<br/>tumblr is <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here!</a> I also recently joined a writers net, which you can find <a href="https://neo-the-stars-net.tumblr.com/">here!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. gardenia jasminoides</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A few weeks pass this way. Taeyong’s condition doesn’t worsen much, and the flowers don’t change, still the little lilies of the valley. He thinks it’s supposed to be commentary on the sweetness and purity of his love for Johnny, maybe some leftover puppy love from being children together. It doesn’t always feel pure—sometimes, he catches himself thinking about him in ways he would never dare admit, and if he wasn’t so worried about his health, he’d probably be thoroughly mortified by it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And for the most part, his routine isn’t really disturbed. He wakes in the morning, makes breakfast. If it’s a day the shop is open, he goes in to help. He goes to the market, comes home in the evening to help with dinner. He hangs out with his friends, spends a lot of his days off at the beach with Johnny. If he’s free but Johnny’s needed at the bakery, he goes over to help. Johnny does the same for him. It’s summer. It’s like every other summer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t mean Taeyong isn’t getting fed up with it, though. He’s angry at everything. He’s angry at himself for letting this happen, angry at the disease for existing, angry that there isn’t an easy cure, angry that he can’t tell anybody. It’s not fair that he has to pick through the flowers he throws up to check for blood, alone on the floor of his bathroom every night. It’s not fair that he’s not allowed to pine in peace. He’d be happy to love Johnny secretly, quietly, and without getting anything in return, if it wasn’t killing him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, though, he finds himself grateful. He arranges flowers every day, cupping the giant blooms of lilies, hibiscuses, dahlias, peonies, and he’s glad for the little lilies of the valley that work their way up from his lungs every night. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt that bad. He worries that someone will notice them in the garbage, but they could be more noticeable. It would be harder to hide if his parents weren’t florists. It would be scarier if he hadn’t grown up around plants and blossoms, if he wasn’t so familiar with them. It would be worse if he hadn’t always been a person so dedicated to love, if he hadn’t always been a bit of a bleeding heart. In a way, it fits him perfectly. There is no death more suited to a person like him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spends a lot of his time with Johnny, partially because he’s the only person he wants to see, but also because he knows this way Johnny will be able to say he saw him often before he died. He won’t feel regretful for not spending more time with him. They’re in the bakery today, Taeyong doing various chores so that it’s easier for Johnny to work, and Johnny is singing as he preps a few loaves for baking. Taeyong has tea cooling on the windowsill, and Johnny’s parents are popping in and out of the kitchen as they fill orders for customers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should try being out front,” Taeyong comments. “Your parents know your recipes. People like you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to deal with people,” Johnny replies, rolling his eyes. “Besides, people like my parents.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, of course, but you would invite… a different demographic,” Taeyong ventures as he swipes flour and drying pebbles of leftover dough into a garbage can. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you suggesting I try to pull customers with my striking good looks?” Johnny asks, turning around and giving him a scandalized look. “You want me to sell my body?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—that’s not what I said,” Taeyong says, exasperated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure sounded a lot like it. I wonder if—” But Taeyong doesn’t get the chance to know what Johnny’s wondering, because Johnny’s hand slips and he presses his forearm to the inside of a very hot oven. Because he’s Johnny, of course he screams, but he still manages to slide the bread in, safe and sound, before pulling away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Johnny mutters, going over to the sink to run it under some water, Taeyong trailing behind unhelpfully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johnny’s mom sticks her head into the kitchen. “Everything okay, kids?” she asks, mild concern painting her features.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Johnny’s burned himself, that’s all,” Taeyong says quickly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay,” Johnny says without looking up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go take a break,” his mom says anyway. “We’re okay here. Your dad can check on the bread when it’s done baking. You too, Taeyong. Make sure he gets some treatment on it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johnny sighs, the noise turning into a hiss of discomfort when he turns the water off. “I’ve got burn ointment upstairs in my bathroom,” he mumbles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll fill a bag with ice for you and meet you up there,” Taeyong offers, nudging him towards the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s up the stairs only a minute later, and enters Johnny’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, frowning as he applies the medicine with shaking hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong gives a little amused sigh, setting the ice pack down on his bedside table, and sitting next to him. “Let me,” he says softly, taking the container from Johnny.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Johnny says, but he lets him take over anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong pats on the gel with his fingertips, gentle as he can, making little apologetic noises when Johnny inhales sharply. “You should be more careful,” he chides softly. “Baking isn’t supposed to be dangerous.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to give me a lecture,” Johnny says. “I’m probably going to get one from my parents tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Taeyong says with a light laugh. For a moment, it’s like they’re twelve again, and he’s helping Johnny clean up a scraped knee before their moms get home and yell at them for being reckless.  “It’s kind of my fault, anyway. I was distracting you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You always distract me. That’s nothing new.” The words send a shiver down Taeyong’s spine, and he looks up to find Johnny looking back, just inches away, and he freezes. Johnny’s gazing at him so intently, so earnestly, and there’s something in his eyes that Taeyong doesn’t know how to name. They stare for a moment, just a couple of breaths, and Taeyong’s about to open his mouth and say something when Johnny takes his hand, the one that’s still hovering over his arm, and places it back in his lap. “That should be enough for now.” His voice is soft, and he doesn’t break eye contact. “I’ll take that ice pack, please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“R-right.” Taeyong puts the lid back on the container of ointment and reaches behind him to retrieve the ice, handing it over. “Um, is it really bad?” he asks, just for something to say, so they don’t sit in awkward and unremitting silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Johnny says, shifting the ice pack. “I probably should stay away from cooking for, like, a day though. It’ll hurt too much to be around heat. I’ll probably end up breaking something.” He sighs. “I guess I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to work out front.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be so bad,” Taeyong encourages. “I meant what I said. You’re good with people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Johnny says wryly. “I suppose it’ll be good experience. I, uh, I was gonna tell you later today, but I got accepted into a month-long training program abroad. It starts in a couple weeks. It’s, like, business management. It’ll be good to have some fresh customer service before I go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” is all Taeyong can find to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A month? Will I last that long? Should I tell him now? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he can’t. He can’t tell him, because then he won’t go, and Taeyong doesn’t want that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Johnny says. “I just got back. It’ll be short, though. I’m not leaving until after your birthday, and I’ll be back just in time for Mark’s. I know—this summer, we were gonna do everything together. I’m sor—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize to me,” Taeyong says quickly. “It’s only a month. I’ll just have all kinds of fun without you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t dare.” Johnny feigns offense, and they both laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be the same without you,” Taeyong admits shyly. “And poor Sugarfoot’ll miss you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That damn horse,” Johnny says fondly, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re silent for a moment. Taeyong goes to put the burn cream away, and brings back a hand towel to help soak the perspiration from the ice bag. It’s like it always is—hands on arms, heads bent together, knees knocking, hair brushing. Taeyong breathes out, Johnny breathes in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Taeyong,” Johnny says softly as Taeyong pulls the towel back, now thoroughly damp. “I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong feels the telltale constriction in his chest. “I told you, you don’t have to apologize.” He stands quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s n... okay.” Johnny lets out a long exhale. “Okay,” he repeats, standing too. “I’m gonna grab some lunch. Do you want to join me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My—my mom actually wanted me home for lunch,” Taeyong makes up quickly, draping the towel over the side of Johnny’s hamper. “I’ll see you this afternoon?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johnny nods, and Taeyong makes it out back, away from the view of the windows before he can’t hold back the coughs anymore. It’s more violent today, and the flowers drag against his throat as they come up. He turns them over in his hands. It’s the thick, white petals of a gardenia. He balls his fist, crushing them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Secret love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I fucking know! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wants to scream it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, he hurls the balled-up petals into the bushes and half-walks, half-stomps across the street to see if his mother needs any help with lunch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>= = =</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another week or so passes, and it’s the night of Taeyong’s birthday. Johnny’s done an absolutely horrible job hiding the fact that he’s been put in charge of getting him to a surprise party that evening. It’s endearing, and Taeyong stifles his laughter as Johnny nonchalantly suggests they go visit Jaehyun. He doesn’t want to ruin the fun, and either way, it’s sweet that he’s trying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johnny chatters somewhat nervously as they get close, and Taeyong lets him, amused. He feigns surprise when he sees other cars parked outside, and pretends to be shocked when their friends jump out from behind them with balloons and kazoos, shouting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuta slings an arm over his shoulder, tugging Mark along with his other hand, while Johnny gets accosted by Chenle and Donghyuck. Jaehyun’s laughing from his doorway, Jaemin and Jeno bickering cutely behind him. Kunhang falls into step on Taeyong’s other side, Yukhei walking backwards in front of them, chatting as they near the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all spill over the threshold, laughing, and for the first time in almost a month, Taeyong’s lungs feel clear. He allows Doyoung to guide him into his seat, watching as Jaehyun and Kun transfer more dishes from the stove to the table. He spots a cake hiding behind a vase of flowers and laughs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sicheng helped Johnny bake it earlier today,” Kun tells him when he notices him looking. “He says he’s sorry he can’t be here, by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He already texted me happy birthday,” Taeyong says. “I was wondering why no one else had.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s kind of a dead giveaway, huh?” Kun laughs. “Oops.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all barely manage to cram around the large table, but it’s comfortable, even if they’re bumping elbows every few seconds. The air is rich with laughter, and Taeyong eats until he feels like he’s going to explode. Johnny catches his eye from across the table from time to time, and his smile makes Taeyong’s heart leap into his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Donghyuck leads them in a ridiculously elongated rendition of happy birthday that somehow gets steered into the “why were you born” territory. Taeyong has to hand it to him for his creativity. He doesn’t take the time to count, but it looks like whoever put the candles on his cake actually fit twenty-three of them on it, so it takes a second to blow them all out. Yukhei laughs at him for having weak lungs and Taeyong just sticks his tongue out in response, saying, “I’ll lick your slice so you can’t eat it,” to which Yukhei responds, without missing a beat, “I’ll still eat it, I’ve had your spit in my mouth before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a very polite way to say you used to share water bottles when you were on the track and field team in high school,” Kun says, trying to do damage control while Chenle and Jisung scream their indignation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all stay for another hour or two, ending up on the front lawn with Jaehyun’s dogs frolicking around their legs as they watch the stars. And then, they’re piling into cars and saying their goodbyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Happy birthday,” Johnny says as they drive off into the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Taeyong says, giving a sleepy laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I could be here for it,” Johnny says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad too,” Taeyong agrees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow’s my last day before I head back overseas,” Johnny continues. “What do you wanna do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” Taeyong hums, shifting in his seat. “I don’t know. I don’t care. As long as I’m with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Johnny nods. “I’ll think of something. How was tonight, though? Did you have fun?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong looks over at him, drinks in the crease of his eyelids, the plush of his lips, the attractive curve of his neck, the way his hands look on the steering wheel. “Yeah,” he says softly, closing his eyes. “I had fun.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! tumblr is <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here!</a></p><p>new superm and nct related things coming out soon (hopefully!) so please keep an eye out ^^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. rosa xanthina</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The day Johnny leaves, Taeyong’s flowers change to winter heath. This one he has to look up, and he snorts when he sees it represents solitude.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can we be a little more creative?” he asks his lungs as he closes out of the window. “This is supposed to be the most beautiful way to die.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quickly, life goes back to how it was before Johnny came home. Taeyong goes to Kun’s cafe once a week, visits Jaehyun once a week, has lunch with Mark and Yuta once a week, hangs out with Doyoung whenever he can spare the time. He works at the flower shop, and spends his free time reading or practicing his magic. He likes to take walks when the sun is setting, when it’s cooled down a little so he doesn’t feel gross by the time he gets home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cooks with his mom at night, spends time with his dad in the garden, and generally pretends like he’s gearing up for a long, happy life. It’s easy to pretend, most days, to fall into a rhythm and think it’s going to last for years to come. The days bleed into each other, orange sunrises and pink sunsets, and soon it’s been a week and a half.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johnny texts him almost every day, usually early afternoon, because that’s nighttime for him. It’s small, quick updates right before he goes to bed, and Taeyong tries not to cherish them that much. Today, though, the text comes in the morning, and it makes Taeyong’s stomach drop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I’m going out on a date tonight! Help me pick out what to wear.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong goes through the options numbly, sat crosslegged on the floor, back against the side of his bed. It’s not like he could get mad. Still, there’s some special brand of self-destruction to this, telling Johnny to wear the black button up he knows makes his arms and chest look good, asking who the date is with like he really is just Johnny’s best friend, and that’s all he wants to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>His name’s Ten. I think you’d like him! I’ll send a pic later if it goes well.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong really hopes he doesn’t get a picture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he does, a couple hours later, when he’s taking a break in the back room of the shop. He scowls at the picture. This guy is cute, terribly so. He’s got the perfect button nose and big, pretty eyes, and a knockout smile. Johnny makes everybody look short, but Ten looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>tiny</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just adorable, and it just makes Taeyong feel worse. He tells Johnny to have fun and clicks his phone off, sliding it back into his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tells himself he’s not envious. He tells himself he doesn’t care. He tells himself that he knew this was going to happen, that eventually Johnny would fall in love with somebody else and he would watch. And of course he would—he always pictured himself as Johnny’s best man, never as the person he was marrying. And when he’d had boyfriends and girlfriends in the past, it had never felt like this. And honestly, he’d kind of assumed that Johnny’s next relationship would happen after he died. Not now. Not when he had to see someone take the very place in Johnny’s life that would save him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong doesn’t throw up any flowers that night. It’s weird; it’s almost like his body knows how much he’s hurting, and is trying to give him a break. Regardless, he’s grateful for the reprieve. Sleep doesn’t come easily; he watches the moon as it makes its slow journey across the sky through his skylight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, he wakes to a text that Johnny’s secured a second date, and then his body finally catches up with his mind. He’s gasping for air, desperately trying to be quiet because he knows his parents are still downstairs. It’s different this time, though—he genuinely feels like he’s going to be sick, so he bolts to the bathroom and collapses to his knees in front of the toilet. It’s a good instinct, because vomit does come up, alongside wilted yellow petals. One gets stuck to his tongue, and he peels it off gingerly, holding it up to the light. It’s a rose petal, yellow for jealousy. He throws it in the toilet and flushes it all away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After brushing his teeth, he makes his way downstairs, knowing full well his parents heard him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you feeling okay?” His mom crosses the room to him the instant he enters the kitchen, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I heard you throwing up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay,” he mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not relapsing, are you?” she frets. “We can always call a doctor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not bulimic again, Mom,” he says softly, going to pour himself a cup of tea. “I’m just… I don’t know. I must’ve eaten something weird last night. Woke up feeling nauseous.” He takes a sip of the tea. “I’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, why don’t you stay home for the morning?” his father suggests. “We’ll be okay at the shop. If you feel better after lunch, you can come in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong doesn’t love the idea of being alone at home, especially now, but he doesn’t push it. “Okay,” he agrees. “If you’re sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The only day we would need help is Valentine’s Day,” his mom says. “It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they leave, Taeyong wanders over to the piano. It’s been a while since anyone’s played it, and a layer of dust has settled over the cover. He lifts it carefully, and presses down on the middle C. The sound rings out in the empty house, reverberating against the walls. It’s a little off-key, but not too much, so he starts to play. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he was younger, he used to try and compose songs. His parents would’ve let him pursue music, too, if he wanted, but he never got very far with it. Still, it was nice now to be able to play, notes memorized long ago. It’s soothing, and the fresh horror of this morning slowly fades into the background.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzes in his pocket, and his heart hammers in his chest, worried it’s from Johnny again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not. It’s from Doyoung, and he’s asking if he wants to come over this afternoon. Taeyong says yes, puts his phone away, and makes some lunch for his parents.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mom stops by around one. “Feel any better?” she asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says, lies. “But, um. Doyoung’s gonna come pick me up in about an hour. I hope that’s okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s just fine,” she says with a kind smile, packing the sandwiches Taeyong had made in a little bag. “Your father and I will manage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung appears in the driveway a little while after Taeyong’s mom leaves, and Taeyong hops into the passenger seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Any particular occasion? Or you just miss me?” Taeyong asks cheekily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung rolls his eyes. “I was bored, figured I’d ask if you also felt like some company.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m flattered,” Taeyong replies. “How’s work?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Annoying as always,” Doyoung says. “I didn’t think being an editor would be so strenuous, but here we are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we can destress any way you want. I’m game.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will you fix my plants?” Doyoung asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you only value me for my botanical skills?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, dumbass. The plants are part of my stress. They’re dying, and I don’t know how to save them. You do. And in return, you don’t have to mope around your house all day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who said I was moping?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anybody would mope if their best friend was gone,” Doyoung reasons. “And as I’m your next best bet, it’s my job to cheer you up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did my mom call you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, why would she call me? Is something wrong?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Taeyong says quickly. “She just worries sometimes, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Doyoung says skeptically as they pull into his driveway. “Just proves my point about moping.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not moping,” Taeyong argues, getting out of the car and following Doyoung up to his front door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung shows him to his plants, and Taeyong clicks his tongue at them, quickly setting to work while Doyoung heats up some leftovers or something on the stove. Doyoung chats as they work. He talks about his job, and how his boss won’t listen to half of his ideas. “I guess it’s what I get for being only, like, one step above an intern. They just assume I don’t know what I’m doing.” He shrugs. “And maybe I don’t, but I can’t learn if all they tell me is ‘no’, full stop, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong nods along, offering noises of sympathy as he moves his way through the row of suffering plants on Doyoung’s windowsill. He finishes the very last one as Doyoung slides some food onto the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh wow!” Doyoung exclaims, going over to examine them. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just magic,” Taeyong says, a little embarrassed. “I’ve only been doing it my whole life. Is this for me?” He points to one of the plates, smiling as the spicy smell of the sauce hits his nostrils.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Doyoung says happily. “Do you wanna eat outside? We can have a picnic in the backyard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Taeyong plucks up the plates as Doyoung hurries down the hall to get a blanket for them to sit on so they don’t get itchy. He lays it out and leaves Taeyong to smooth the edges, going back inside for drinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He comes out with two bottles of rosé, exteriors a little frosty from being in the fridge. “Let’s be crazy and just drink from the bottles,” he says when Taeyong opens his mouth quizzically. “Don’t wanna bother with glasses.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you understand how much of a lightweight I am,” Taeyong says warily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do understand,” Doyoung says, handing him a bottle and setting to work on opening his. “I’m just equipped to handle it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They finish their dinner quickly, and then sit back, taking sips of the wine, enjoying the pretty golden light of the early evening and the drop in temperature it brings. They get increasingly tipsy (or, in Taeyong’s case, drunk), laughing boisterously for no one to hear except the fireflies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong’s phone buzzes in rapid succession from where he threw it at the edge of the blanket. He glances over at it hazily, but it’s out of reach, and he knows it’s from Johnny… and he’s just having such a good time. Why ruin it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna get that?” Doyoung asks, squinting as the phone vibrates again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably just Johnny,” Taeyong says, shrugging and taking another sip of his wine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Just Johnny’?” Doyoung repeats. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Just your best friend who’s an ocean away?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, let me rephrase.” Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Just Johnny talking about the guy he’s seeing. He’s probably asking what to wear again. It’s like your boss—it’s not like he listens to my suggestions anyway. He’ll figure it out. I don’t want to drop everything every time I get a text from him. I’m here with you, so I’ll be here with you, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung gives him a dubious look. “Okay,” he says slowly. “But that was, like, seven texts.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He probably made a typo.” Taeyong looks off at the trees. “If he really needs something, he’ll call.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows he’s being weird; it’s not like him to be aloof and uncaring, but Doyoung doesn’t press, and Taeyong’s phone doesn’t ring again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun is really setting now, dipping behind the tree line, and the bugs have come out, so they gather themselves up, unsteady on their feet, and head inside. Doyoung puts on some god-awful chick flick for them to watch as they finish their wine. Taeyong can barely focus his eyes as they stumble down the hall to Doyoung’s bedroom, empty bottles left on the coffee table for their future selves to worry about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His shower sobers him a little, and he settles back onto the futon Doyoung had set up, remembering his phone suddenly now that he was alone, with Doyoung in the shower. He clicks it on and taps on his messages. They’re from Johnny, and they’re mostly about his next date with Ten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You busy? I need some advice.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Is it too early to invite ten back to my place? We’re gonna do a movie </b>
</p><p>
  <b>and like I don’t have any expectations about it but you never know</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Also what if he does</b>
</p><p>
  <b>So should I do it</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yong?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m gonna invite him to mine, fuck it.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong sighs and types back a quick reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sorry, I’m at Doyoung’s. We were outside, didn’t have my phone. Good luck tonight! </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It raises a lump in his throat—the tears kind, luckily, not the flower kind, and Taeyong swallows it back down, setting his phone aside. The water turns off and Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut immediately. He doesn’t want to talk to anybody anymore tonight, so he pretends to be asleep when Doyoung comes back into the room. The room spins a little beneath him, and now the lump has become more the insistent pulse of nausea, but sleep finds Taeyong easily anyway. He doesn’t even remember Doyoung turning off the nightlight.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u as always for reading! tumblr is <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. lilium bulbiferum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The air is already wet and heavy when Taeyong wakes. He kicks off his blankets irritably, disgusted with the sheen of sweat already collecting in beads on his skin. Doyoung is still sleeping peacefully in his bed, so he pads on down the hall to the kitchen with the intent to make them breakfast. He decides on omelettes—they both like theirs thin and crispy, with the cheese a little burnt around the edges, so he gets to work, throwing in some chopped peppers and whatever else he can find in Doyoung’s fridge. The kettle whistles cheerfully as he carefully pours half of the egg mix into the pan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s just sliding the first finished omelette onto a plate, coffee dripping rhythmically through the filter when Doyoung shuffles into the kitchen, hair tangled and fluffed up on one side, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Taeyong says, suppressing a laugh. “This is for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Doyoung says softly, blinking. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He eats slowly, nursing his coffee, as Taeyong makes his own omelette, and then they sit together in companionable silence, watching the birds on the bird feeder in Doyoung’s backyard out the window.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong’s phone buzzes aggressively against the table, shocking them both out of their peaceful reverie. Taeyong murmurs an apology, picking it up. The disturbance is, of course, Johnny.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tell doyoung hi for me! Ten says hi to you both. He’s taking me to dinner tonight :o I’m trying to convince him to come back home with me… any talking points?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s accompanied by a picture of Ten sitting on a couch, sticking his tongue out at the camera, a cute little frown on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who is it?” Doyoung asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Johnny.” Taeyong tries to keep the strain from his voice. “He says hi. His, um, his boyfriend says hi, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boyfriend? I thought it was just a boy he was seeing,” Doyoung says, swirling the dregs of his coffee around in his mug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, he says he’s trying to convince him to come back with him when the month is up,” Taeyong says. “So I guess it’s serious? Though why he wouldn’t just stay a while longer…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He wouldn’t want to miss Mark’s birthday,” Doyoung says. “And he probably misses you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well.” Taeyong presses his lips together. He shouldn’t be angry, right? So why does he feel fury rising in his chest and his throat? He forces it down, stabbing another bite of his omelette. “I don’t want him to put his life on hold for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung gives him a curious look, but just shrugs. “Do you parents need you at the shop today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, we’re closed on Saturdays,” he replies. “Do you still want my company? Or do you need to work?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Doyoung says. “I have a little work to finish, but you can hang out while I do it, and then we can go to the beach or something, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sounds good,” Taeyong agrees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Taeyong sits in the living room, skimming a book, while Doyoung works in the kitchen. He can’t focus, though, mind drifting back to the picture of Ten. He’s guessing they’re in Johnny’s apartment. He imagines Johnny laughing at the face Ten was making when he took the pictures, imagines him scooting across the couch to kiss him after he put his phone away. He imagines him asking him to come visit his hometown with him to meet all his friends. He imagines meeting Ten, having to shake his hand, having to welcome him. He imagines Ten, gorgeous eyes, shiny hair, perfect smile, deciding to stay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hates him. He hasn’t met him, but he hates him, and he’s mad at himself for hating him, because of course it’s not fair of him. It’s not Ten’s fault Johnny fell in love with him and not Taeyong. It’s not Ten’s fault he’s flawless. It’s not Ten’s fault Taeyong is dying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong doesn’t realize he’s coughing until he already is, huge, wheezing breaths in between. He flings the book down, folding over himself, knowing very well Doyoung hears. He feels a hand on his back and all he can think is that Doyoung’s gonna kill him before this stupid disease gets around to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s coughed up giant orange petals—he has to pull one from his mouth, where it’s still sitting, half down his throat. He looks up at Doyoung, eyes watering, and sees horror and pain reflected in his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Taeyong,” Doyoung whispers, grabbing a nearby trashcan so Taeyong can dispose of the flowers. “What the fuck?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Taeyong replies. “I’m sorry you had to see. Nobody—nobody was supposed to know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung sits down on the floor next to him, leaning his back up against the sofa. He stares at the wall. “How long?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About a month. A little longer, I think,” Taeyong says, biting down on the inside of his lower lip, worrying the skin between his teeth until it’s raw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should’ve told me,” Doyoung says. “Do your parents know? Fuck, does Johnny know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one knows.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Doyoung turns, and the hurt in his eyes is so strong that Taeyong has to look away. “Did you think you could get through this alone? Did you think any of us would want you to go through it alone?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like you can help me,” Taeyong says bitterly. “You can’t make him love me. None of you can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who is it?” Doyoung asks, soft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to tell you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Doyoung sighs heavily. “Okay.” They’re silent for another minute or two. “Are you going to tell your parents?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell them near the end,” Taeyong says. “So they can say goodbye. But… there’s no point in worrying them now. Again… there’s nothing they can do. I want them to be in pain for as short a time as possible. Same goes for everybody else.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you meant at breakfast today? That you didn’t want Johnny to put his life on hold for you? Because you won’t…” Doyoung swallows, unable to finish the sentence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s got so much time ahead of him,” Taeyong says, somewhat wistfully. “And I don’t, so…” He shrugs. “I knew if I told him he’d treat me different. He wouldn’t have gone to this training program—and then he wouldn’t’ve met Ten. So I was right not to tell him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure he’d agree with you there,” Doyoung says wryly. “Jesus, Taeyong. I can’t believe you hid it for this long. You’re an idiot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Taeyong murmurs. “I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung glances into the trash can. “What flower is that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong peers into it, too. “It’s an orange lily,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong gives him a sideways look. “It’s, um. That’s new.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s because I’m angry. It’s because I hate a man I haven’t even met.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “The flowers have been changing from the start.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Doyoung mutters again, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can convince you to get the surgery, is there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Taeyong says firmly, simply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Taeyong,” Doyoung says softly. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. It’s not fair. You don’t deserve this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong feels tears prick behind his eyes. He knows all that, of course--but it’s nice to hear someone else say it. “It’s a little fitting, though, don’t you think?” he points out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung gives a watery laugh. “A little, yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sit quietly for a little while longer, Taeyong catching his breath, Doyoung angrily swiping tears away from time to time. Finally, he huffs out a breath and gets to his feet. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go do something fun. Let’s go to the beach.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about your work?” Taeyong asks. “Did you finish it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My work doesn’t matter.” Doyoung offers him his hand, pulling him to his feet. “You’re gonna have the best summer ever, if I have anything to say about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, they go to the beach. Doyoung pushes him around in the water, their small assortment of items abandoned on the sand. Taeyong finds himself laughing in spite of it all. The sun is bright and oppressive, but Taeyong doesn’t mind. The gratitude returns to him now, too; he’s lucky he has a friend like Doyoung. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It could be much worse, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks as he runs and grabs Doyoung, hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes or a particularly unruly child and trudging back down to the water, ignoring Doyoung’s flailing limbs and protests, wading in and then dunking Doyoung below the surface. At any rate, he certainly isn’t moping around at home, as Doyoung had so sweetly put it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s late before they finally decide to head back. The sky is already a vibrant pink by the time they pull up to Taeyong’s house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bugs are all coming out, cicadas humming sharply in the trees, and he and Doyoung both let out a little breath at the same time. Doyoung stares through the windshield, still gripping his steering wheel, even though the car is in park.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for today, Doie.” Taeyong decides to break the silence.. “I really… I really appreciate it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung doesn’t answer for a moment, only gripping the steering wheel harder. “I know it’s not my place to be sad,” he finally says, his voice tight. “It’s not my place to be angry, but god fucking dammit, Taeyong.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against his knuckles. “I’m mad. I’m furious. It’s not fair! I thought our stupid friend group was finally done with all of this. I thought we had all the time in the world.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Taeyong says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hope I never find out who this idiot you love is,” Doyoung says. “I’d kill him if I knew, I think.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you would,” Taeyong says delicately. “But that’s partially why I’m not telling anyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung raises his head, and Taeyong realizes he’s crying. “I’m gonna miss you so much, stupid,” he says thickly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong blinks away his own tears. “I… I know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll—I’ll come take care of you, when it gets bad,” Doyoung promises, and Taeyong shakes his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do that. It’s not—it’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to see me like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to,” he says fiercely. “And I don’t want your parents to be alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong nods numbly, trying not to think about his parents, trying not to think about how they’ll have to choose the plants for his bouquet and wrap them themselves. He tries not to think about them waking up to an empty loft, a quiet, too-big house. He thinks about them having to manage the flower shop without him. He thinks about them having to bury their son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Taeyong says again. He doesn’t know what else to say. “You’ll be… you’ll be alright, eventually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Doyoung sighs, long and heavy. “It’s the kids I’m worried about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to tell me,” Taeyong murmurs. “Mark and Yukhei… Donghyuck… Jisung especially. I feel terribly sorry to them. I don’t want to leave them behind like this. I—I don’t want to leave any of you behind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doyoung makes a pained noise. “Go, get out of my fucking car before I start ugly-sobbing,” he says, pushing his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong laughs, opening the car door. “Okay, okay.” He closes it behind him and leans down. “Goodnight, Doyoung.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, moron,” Doyoung mutters in reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong rubs a few tears out of his eyes as he watches Doyoung drive away, then makes his way down the path to his front door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just in time!” his mom calls from the kitchen. “Will you help me finish dinner?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong kicks off his shoes and hurries to her. “Sorry for being so late, it wasn’t supposed to be that long.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” his mom says. “It’s good you got to spend so much time with Doyoung. He’s so busy these days.” She hands him some vegetables to wash. “By the way,” she adds. “Your sister said she’s going to come home in a few days for a visit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t she tell me?” Taeyong says, checking his phone and finding it devoid of messages. “Why doesn’t anybody tell me anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mom laughs. “Yes, we’re all conspiring against you to give you lovely surprises,” she teases, and Taeyong giggles. “It’ll be nice to have her back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long is she staying?” Taeyong asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, she said maybe a month or so,” his mom replies. “She has some time off of work—or, well, she can take time away. She’ll probably still be working. You know how she is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Taeyong says nodding. “That’s good, though,” he adds, though his heart feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. “I can’t wait to see her again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night after he’s put himself to bed, he stares up at the ceiling, feeling the creeping tendrils of dread wrap themselves tightly around him. Eunyong knew more about Taeyong than even Johnny, even their parents. She can see right through him, can predict his every action, and she loves him fiercely. He knows it will be quite the feat to hide his condition from her, especially when she’s staying so long. If Doyoung was mad at him for keeping it a secret, Eunyong will be furious. She won’t force him to get the surgery, of course, but she won’t be happy about it, either. And if Eunyong finds out, it’s only a matter of time before everyone knows, because she knows they’ll all want to say goodbye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong knows it’s fair, but he’s not sure he’s ready for it. He tosses and turns, and when he closes his eyes, it’s his friends’ faces he sees. He’s not one for exaggerating his place in other people’s lives, but he also recognizes that for some reason, he’s loved. He knows it’ll break their hearts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into his palms, curled facing the wall in the fetal position. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading! please check out the next part in this series (it's nonlinear ^^) if you're interested! my tumblr is <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here!</a> hope you're all doing well ^^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. camellia japonica nobilissima</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eunyong arrives that weekend, right around the halfway point of Johnny’s time abroad. She starts cleaning up the house the instant she sets down her bags, Taeyong following behind, happy to be chastised for the way he’s so clearly let the house fall into disrepair. For the first time in a while, their home is actually a little noisy, the joy of a reunion so palpable the house seems to stretch and grow with it. Taeyong is surprised no windows have shattered from the warm comfort emanating off of everyone under their roof the first few nights.</p><p> </p><p>The siblings decide to give their parents some time off from the shop, falling into an easy rhythm each day, filling orders and chatting with customers. Eunyong has been away ever since Taeyong graduated college last spring, but within the first day, she already found ways to boss Taeyong around. It’s what she’s doing now, pointing out that the way he folds the butcher paper when he’s wrapping bouquets tends to lead to unwanted creasing. Taeyong doesn’t mind her nagging, though; she’s right, in any case, <em> as usual</em>, he thinks with a small smile as he corrects his technique.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this better?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>She scrutinizes it, and then breaks out into a smile. “Much better,” she assures. “Hey,” she adds as he turns back around to grab some twine. “Are you, you know, okay here? Like, are you happy?”</p><p> </p><p>She’s gesturing around the shop, concern in her eyes. Taeyong gives her a confused look. “What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean…” She glances at the clock, then goes to the door and locks it, turning their sign to “out for lunch!” before coming back and pulling a stool up to the counter in front of him. “I know the shop is important to Mom and Dad. And I know ever since you were little, you said you’d be happy to take over for them. But… I just worry about you, sometimes, that’s all. You could still—you could still choose something else. They’d understand.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong laughs a little. “Eunyong,” he says. “I like it here. Sure, I could’ve pursued something else. I could have tried to become a singer or something, gone to the city like you. And I probably would have been quite successful. But… I don’t know. There’s something about this kind of life—it’s small, quiet. My world doesn’t need to be the size of the universe. My world is right here, and that’s plenty for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong gives him a fond look. “You are so good,” she says. “You’re the poster child for filial piety.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am not,” Taeyong protests. “I just… I’m content here. I don’t want anything else. The people I love are here, the work I love is here. I like the way the seasons shift, I like being near the ocean, I like that our buildings are only a couple of stories tall.” It feels hollow because of course he knows it won’t be like this for long, but it’s true all the same. He knows it’s a little hard for Eunyong to understand, with her ambition and her eyes full of stars. He can only hope she won’t give up her career to come pick up the pieces when he’s gone. “You wanted something else. And I’m so happy for you. I’m glad you didn’t have to push away that dream. I hope you never do.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s kind of you to say,” she says, slipping off the stool and going to unlock the door again. “Well, if you’re happy here, then I’m happy for you, too.” </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s phone buzzes in his pocket. As usual, it’s Johnny. The message, though, sends a shock of panic through Taeyong’s body, spearing him in place.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Hey are you busy today? Can I call you in a bit?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?” Eunyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Just, um, just a text from Johnny,” Taeyong says, trying to sound normal. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” Eunyong arches an eyebrow at him. “And?”</p><p> </p><p>“He wants to call me in a little, but he didn’t say why.” Taeyong looks between his phone, limp in his hand, and his sister’s face. “Can I—Can I call him now? Is that okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong motions around to the empty shop. “No, I’m obviously swamped,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Go, see what your boyfriend needs.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not my—!”</p><p> </p><p>“And tell him to hurry home! I won’t be here for long, and I want to see his dumbass.”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Kay,” Taeyong says, too worried to laugh. He steps into the back room, shutting and locking the door behind him, dialing Johnny with the other hand.</p><p> </p><p>He picks up on the first ring. “Oh, hey, Taeyong.” He sounds a little strange. “I didn’t mean now, not if you’re busy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not busy,” Taeyong says quickly. “Eunyong is here, she can stand to watch the shop on her own for a little while.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, right! When did she get in? How long is she staying? How is she?”</p><p> </p><p>“She got in on Saturday, so… that’s four days ago now,” Taeyong lists off. “She leaves in early- to mid-August. And, um, she’s good. That’s not why I called though. What’s going on? Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yes, yes,” Johnny says. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just, um, didn’t want to be alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“I—okay. What… what about Ten?” Taeyong forces the bitterness from his tone, ignoring the surge of jealousy.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s kind of why I’m calling. Um, he and I broke up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond. He wants to scream. He wants to ask Johnny a million questions. But he’s a good friend, so he says, “I’m sorry, Johnny. That’s not fun.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny sighs. “I mean, it’s probably for the best. I… I asked Ten if he wouldn’t want to come back with me, to see my hometown and stuff, and I guess it was, like, way too fast for him. Which—I mean, it was. Really fast. I just wanted to give him a chance to like, book tickets. But he said he couldn’t really see himself in a small town anyway, and since I can’t really see myself anywhere else… I guess it’s good we didn’t waste more of our time.”</p><p> </p><p>“It wasn’t a waste,” Taeyong soothes immediately. “You learned something, right? And you had fun.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I guess,” Johnny says with another heavy sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s something else, though,” Taeyong guesses. “You sound like there’s something else.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs a little, but it’s dark and humorless. “He said—he just said as much as I seemed to be interested in him, I was never fully invested. And I guess he was right. It’s just not a nice thing to hear, even if he said it politely.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Taeyong says, lost. “I… I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Johnny says. “I mean, I kind of always knew my heart lives at home.” Taeyong hears rustling, and he imagines Johnny running a hand through his hair, brows furrowed in thought. “I guess I just feel bad for being so obvious about it. He didn’t deserve that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Was he nice?” Taeyong asks, half just for something to say, half to hurt himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Taeyong resents the wistful note in Johnny’s voice. “He’s a handful, for sure, but he’s really nice. I mean, he’s… He’s like the rest of us, I guess. Just doing the best with what he has.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that meant to be a positive or negative comment?” Taeyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, positive, positive.” Johnny laughs, boisterous and full. “That sounded really spiteful of me, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way.”</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Taeyong ventures, evidently on a self-destructive streak, “when you say your heart lives at home, what does that mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“It means I miss my friends and my family and my bakery.” Taeyong can hear the eye roll, and he deflates, relieved, though Johnny’s next words make him tense up all over again, for an entirely new reason. “It means I miss you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I miss you, too,” Taeyong replies after a split second of panicked silence. “Oh, yeah, um, Eunyong says, and I quote, to ‘hurry home, I won’t be here long and I want to see his dumbass.’ So.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs again. “Sounds like Eunyong. Well, tell her I’m <em> training</em>, and I’ll get home when I get home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Train faster,” Taeyong complains, earning another round of laughter.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>The week ends sweltering and humid. Taeyong’s flowers have changed to a white camellia. The petals are coming up in groups now, twos and threes still connected to each other. He knows it won’t be long until he’s producing whole flowers, damp and wilting but perfectly intact. He doesn’t want to think about what it’s going to do to his throat. </p><p> </p><p>He’s getting weaker, too; his ribs are more prominent than ever and his cheeks are a little sunken. There’s a grayish pallor to his face now, though it’s usually hidden by blotchy red from the heat. The tips of his fingers and his toes are always cold, though, even when he’s outside, and he feels brittle, like if he falls down the stairs he’ll just start to break apart. His breath doesn’t come easily at all anymore, and he feels guilty when his mother buys a few potions from Yuta’s mom for chest tightness. He has no choice but to drink them, though he knows they’re going completely to waste.</p><p> </p><p>He avoids a lot of his friends now that these more visible symptoms have made themselves known. They all know what to look for, and he’s just not ready for everyone to know yet. Honestly, he’s shocked his family hasn’t said anything. He does his best to patch up his face with makeup, and wears baggy enough clothing that no one can tell how he’s slowly withering away. He stays home under the guise of family time, but he knows he can’t hide for very long. Mark’s birthday is coming up, and Johnny—<em>Johnny will be home soon. It’s not like I’ll be able to ignore him.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Eunyong seems to be catching on that <em> something </em>is wrong, but she hasn’t mentioned it outright, likely because she’s not quite sure what she should be asking about. Taeyong tries his best not to give her an opening, and does everything he can to muffle the sounds of his coughing fits when they come. Under her watchful eye, though, he doubts he’ll manage the facade for long. </p><p> </p><p>Doyoung comes by a couple times, and even though he knows already, Taeyong can’t help but try to act like nothing’s wrong when he’s with him, too. He doesn’t want him to worry, even though he knows this wish is futile. How can he not?</p><p> </p><p>“Eunyong is gonna kick your ass when she finds out,” Doyoung mentions offhand one day when he’s driving Taeyong back home. “You know that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it’s not like it’ll help to tell her now,” Taeyong says. “She’ll just… find out whenever she finds out, and be mad. She wouldn’t be any less mad if I told her tonight, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope she beats you up,” Doyoung says, and Taeyong laughs, gingerly. The sound is a little raspy, and Doyoung gives him a look out of the corner of his eyes. “You haven’t, uh, you haven’t started coughing up blood yet, have you?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Taeyong assures him. “Not yet. I’d tell you if I did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Would you?” Doyoung asks, voice pitched unbelievably high with his skepticism.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, point taken,” Taeyong says. “But I would, I swear.”</p><p> </p><p>“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Doyoung’s tone is wry, as always.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re forgiven,” Taeyong says, singsongy and overly sweet.</p><p> </p><p>“I will leave you stranded on the side of the road, so help me God. You can walk home.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong spends some time mulling over his calendar before he sleeps that night. He’s got a little over a week now before Johnny comes home. Mark’s birthday is a couple days after he returns. Assuming he progresses along steadily the way he has been, the blood shouldn’t start until the week Eunyong is set to leave. From there, he probably won’t have much longer until he’ll be too weak to leave his room. Jaemin’s birthday is the 13th, just days after Eunyong’s departure, and he wonders if he’d even be able to make it to the celebration. He scans down the page, and places his finger on the last week of August. He doubts he’ll see the fall.</p><p> </p><p>He allows himself a moment of melancholy. He had no idea last autumn, when he’d gone to a pumpkin patch with all his friends, would be the last time he saw bright orange and red leaves. He blinks, realizing he’ll never see snow again. He’ll never see the sea turn grey and violent with the cold winter wind. He won’t huddle around the fireplace, cradling a mug of hot cocoa to keep his hands warm. He won’t celebrate another Halloween, another Christmas. He certainly won’t be around for the new year. </p><p> </p><p>He puts his phone down, looking around his room, confronted suddenly by his tenuous mortality. Any given experience could be the last of its kind. It’s always been true in a way, of course, but now it’s all he can think. He’ll only see one more full moon, only have a few more cups of Kun’s excellent coffee, only see Jaehyun’s stupid horses a handful more times. Sometime soon, he’ll wrap his last bouquet.</p><p> </p><p>It should terrify him, really. It should make him sob until he wakes the whole neighborhood up, make him want to get out and do as much as possible, make him want to never sleep again. But he’s so tired that the finality of it is almost soothing, somehow. <em> It’s been hard</em>, he acknowledges. <em> At least there’s an end coming. At least I’ll be able to rest. </em> He’s so exhausted with the secrecy, with the way his body rattles and shakes, that the peace he imagines comes with death is a relief. <em> I hope it’s gentle, </em> he thinks. <em> I hope it’s like falling asleep. I imagine it dark and warm and quiet. And then—absolutely nothing.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wouldn’t that be nice? </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! tumblr <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>; once I finish up a couple of things i may or may not be putting up some polls (new nct chaptered fic? kinktober???) which ofc i'll link here, but i'll be more vocal and active about it on tumblr so that's the best place to be if you want ur voice heard! ofc, you can also always drop me a comment or an ask anytime ^^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. camellia japonica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>for those of you unfamiliar with <i>The Little Prince</i>, this may be a bit of a confusing chapter! sorry in advance lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Suddenly, things get very busy. Johnny’s coming back in a few days, and Mark’s birthday is right around the corner—he’s turning nineteen, and Yuta wants it to be the perfect celebration of his last year as a teenager, so they’re all working hard to put something together. Chenle offers up his parents’ house, and they start working on decorations right away. Taeyong is charged with the flowers, of course, so he spends a lot of his time preparing as much as he can, obviously unable to actually make the arrangements until the night before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eunyong pitches in, even though she’s gotten busy with her work again, and even offers to pick Johnny up from the airport so Taeyong can come with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should really get a driver’s license,” she says to him. “You’re too old not to have one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need one,” Taeyong says. “I have friends who can drive, and almost always, everything I need is within walking distance. Plus cars are scary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re bizarre,” she informs him, shaking her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong’s managed to pull his appearance together a little bit, at least during the day when he sees his friends. He’s lucky he was Eunyong’s guinea pig for new makeup looks when they were younger because it gave him the chance to learn how to use it. He knows how to make his skin look healthy, how to hide his dark circles and the harsh lines of his cheekbones. Though he does lose his breath easily, and sometimes he has to slip away to vomit up more flowers, his friends don’t seem suspicious of anything, so their preparations go smoothly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, it keeps Taeyong really busy, and when he comes home and takes the makeup off, his parents can see that he’s unwell. He refuses a trip to the doctor’s because he knows they’ll be able to tell right away, instead making up excuses about feeling a little under the weather, or spending so much time with his friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you not worry about the flower shop for a little while, then?” his mother suggests. “You and Eunyong gave your father and I plenty of rest. Now it’s your turn, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong doesn’t know how he would argue even if he wanted to, or had the energy, so he goes to bed early that night, drawing all his blinds closed tight, and doesn’t set an alarm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes, he’s standing on a tiny little planet. The wind ruffles his hair slightly as he looks around. The sky is growing, and stars twinkle in the distance; it seems it’s nearing dusk. He takes an unsteady step, unsure how to reckon with the fact that he can see the curvature of the land he’s standing on. But nothing happens. He doesn’t fall off into the abyss. The planet doesn’t crack and crumble beneath his feet. The wind keeps its gentle whispering, the flowers and grasses at Taeyong’s feet rustling with it and tickling his ankles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With nothing else to do, Taeyong decides to keep walking, just one step after another, away from the growing darkness on the horizon. He doesn’t walk for very long until he sees a young boy sitting in a little wooden chair a few paces before him. He’s wearing a clean little outfit, the collar of his shirt popped against the light breeze, and a long flowing scarf. He turns, and seeing Taeyong, smiles in greeting. Taeyong realizes there’s an empty chair next to him, and finds himself going to sit in it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he says cautiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” the boy returns placidly. “What brings you to my planet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I…” Taeyong blinks, confused. “I don’t know. I’m just here, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s funny,” the boy says, letting out a bright peal of laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What—what are you doing? Sitting here?” Taeyong asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are waiting for the sunset,” the boy says, nodding at the sky, and then gesturing down to his feet. Taeyong follows his hand and sees that there is a single red rose growing there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll wait with you, then,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy laughs again. “I’m only waiting because she cannot move. But you came from the direction of the sunsets. Why wait?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond to that. Something about this feels familiar, but he can’t put his finger on it, so he trains his gaze back to the skies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Presently, he hears a faint cough. It sounds too light to come from the boy, and Taeyong frowns, flicking his eyes around, trying to see who else could be here. And then, a little voice speaks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The glass globe?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not night yet.” The boy’s voice has changed, and Taeyong’s eyes widen in surprise to see that it’s now Yukhei before him; dressed differently, too, in a long, billowing blue coat, with golden stars affixed to the shoulders, and tall black boots. “And why should I bother, really? You’ll survive without it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will catch cold!” Taeyong realizes it’s the flower talking. She protests as fiercely as a little thing such as herself can. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You won’t,” Yukhei argues. “You can survive on your own, without my help. You have your thorns.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Claws,” she corrects sullenly. “Didn’t you say you loved me? Why won’t you help me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How can I love you when you don’t love me back?” Yukhei asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re cold and selfish!” the flower accuses. “You can’t love anybody else if you don’t love me. You know it’s true.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yukhei makes an angry, frustrated noise, lunging forward. Before Taeyong can stop him, he has both his hands in the dirt. It’s like he’s trying to strangle the flower to death—but then he uproots her. She’s squirming weakly in his grip, waving her little thorns. Yukhei is crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I loved you,” he whispered. “I loved you and it almost killed me. I bled for you, because you keep your useless thorns. You grow your thorns just for spite. And it almost killed me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong is frozen, and he watches as Yukhei shoves the flower in his mouth, swallowing it whole. The little planet is still once more; the sun has begun to dip far below the horizon, now, and it paints the landscape a deep scarlet. The wind still blows, and Taeyong shivers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yukhei?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yukhei turns to him, but then pain contorts his features, and he lurches off the chair onto the ground on his hands and knees, coughing. He coughs so hard he begins to retch, and little drops of blood spray against the ground in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong crouches beside him, feeling panic rise in his chest. “Yukhei!” But, just like before, there’s nothing he can do to help him. Yukhei heaves, drawing in rattling breaths, his giant, strong frame suddenly seeming so small and frail. The blood flows more heavily now, and then the flowers come, dozens and dozens of roses, stems and all, thorns streaked a dark red. They erupt from his throat and scatter around their hands, but he doesn’t stop. There’s ringing in Taeyong’s ears and he realizes distantly that he’s crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yukhei, just breathe. It’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he repeats over and over. He rubs his back, flinching as another round of flowers come up, trailing blood that glints in the fading light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, it all stops. Taeyong looks up at his face, and then falls backwards, seeing Johnny’s eyes staring back at him. He looks around desperately, but the flowers and the blood are all gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Johnny reaches out and swipes a tear from Taeyong’s cheek. “Will you forgive me?” he asks, soft. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Forgive you for what?” Taeyong asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have been silly…” Taeyong’s senses fade in and out, and he feels anxious tightness gather in his chest. Johnny’s voice pitches and distorts as Taeyong’s vision goes out of focus. “I ask your forgiveness…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing he sees is a red rose, so close to his eyes that it blocks out the light of the sun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lurches upright in bed, gasping and coughing. His room is dark, but he can see slivers of light squeezing in around his curtains. He coughs again, the sound deep and booming in his lungs. He hopes Eunyong isn’t home. Shaking, he throws the covers off, and tries to get out of bed. But his body is being wracked by the horrible coughs, and he slips and falls to the floor with a crash. He sucks in a breath, but it’s like trying to drink a smoothie through a thin straw; the small amount of air he captures nearly whistles on its journey to his lungs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Red petals spill into his hand, wet and sticky from his spit, clumped to one another. They keep coming, overflowing from his palms to the floor, and he hears feet thundering up the stairs. His breathing slows and evens, and he blinks his eyes open, vision blurry from his tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Taeyong!” It’s Eunyong, and she’s standing, frozen in horror, at the top of the stairs, hand that’s gripping the railing white.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you—can you get the light?” he asks, voice hoarse. “I need to check.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite her shock, she does as he asks, reaching over to the wall and flipping the light switch. Taeyong’s eyes burn from the sudden brightness, but he blinks it away, sifting through the pile of flowers in front of him, and then breathes out a sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Taeyong, what’s going on?” Eunyong’s voice is tight with fear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Taeyong says. “It’s not blood. It’s just red camellias.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Red c—Taeyong!” Eunyong hurries to his side, brushing some hair from his eyes. “Oh, Taeyong,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Let’s clean this up, hmm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong nods, letting her pull him to his feet and guide him back to his bed. He sits and watches as she sweeps up the petals and throws them in the trash, and then brings him a damp washcloth to clean his face with. He presses the cool fabric to his cheek and she sits down beside him and rests her head against his shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t tell Mom and Dad,” Taeyong says. “Not yet. I don’t want them to worry when—when there’s nothing they can do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” Eunyong murmurs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re quiet for a moment. Taeyong feels more tears gather behind his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Johnny,” he says softly. “I love him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eunyong lets out a short sigh. “You stupid, stupid boy,” she says. “And you’re just going to die for him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have any other choice,” Taeyong says, feeling hot tears spill over and roll down his cheeks. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Taeyong,” Eunyong says again, sitting up and gathering him in her arms. Taeyong sobs into her shoulder, and she rubs soothing circles into his back. “I know. You’ve loved him since you were little. He wouldn’t want this. He loves you, too, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not like this,” Taeyong says. “Not like how I want him too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eunyong hums in acknowledgment, and rocks him a little, lets him cry until he’s worn himself out. The sun is coming more insistently through the gaps of his blinds. Reluctantly, he pulls away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What time is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s almost noon,” Eunyong replies. “I want to say I’m glad you were able to sleep well, but I don’t think that was the case.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Taeyong admits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t deserve you,” Eunyong says. “Red camellia. You love him so much. That kind of love is hard to find.” She gives him a sad look. “You’ve always been like that, though. Heart a million sizes too big for your body. Love the size of a building and nowhere to put it. It’s what I love the most about you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taeyong smiles in spite of his tears. “Thanks, I think.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So.” She stands, and offers him her hand. “No blood. How long, do you think, until there is blood?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Taeyong says. “I’m expecting it in a couple weeks, probably.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. When did it start?” She tugs him along, and they carefully make their way down the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right at the end of May, beginning of June. Around when Johnny came back,” Taeyong tells her. “The flowers, they keep changing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky, then,” Eunyong observes. “Usually it takes over much quicker, when the flowers are always changing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Taeyong says. “I expected to be a lot worse by now, but… for some reason, I’m still here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering what the fuck was going on with you. Mom said she was worried you were relapsing, except none of it was adding up—like, you’re eating normally, and you don’t seem like you’re throwing up after every meal.” Eunyong gives him a look as she lights the fire under the kettle. “It makes sense now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate that it’s worrying her so much,” Taeyong says. “But I think it’s better this way, for now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” Eunyong says. “No, I agree. And I think it should be you who tells them, anyway. Don’t wait too long, though. I think the longer you wait, the scarier it will be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Taeyong seats himself at the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You still up for picking Johnny up at the airport tomorrow? We can always ask one of the others to go. I’m sure Jaehyun wouldn’t mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I still want to go,” Taeyong says firmly. “Besides, Jaehyun probably needs to stay on his farm if he’s going to make it to Mark’s birthday party.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Eunyong sits across from him, passing him a coffee. “Well, for now, then, let’s head over to the bakery to see if they need anything. Mrs. Seo said she’d make us lunch if we helped clean up Johnny’s room upstairs.” She laughs. “He’s only been gone for a month, and she’s acting like years worth of dust has settled over everything. Still,” she continues. “I think it’ll be nice if we can tidy up a little, maybe bring over some flowers. Sound good?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees, blowing on his coffee to cool it before taking a sip. “Sounds good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eunyong takes his free hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” she says. “This sucks, yeah? But all of us are simply doing what we can with the hand we were dealt. Some hands are a lot worse than others. But that doesn’t mean every day has to be garbage. Right? The world has some good in store for you yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to believe that,” Taeyong says, squeezing back. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now come on. The Seo’s food is waiting for us, and I’m starving!” Eunyong says it with a laugh, and Taeyong finds himself laughing, too.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! tumblr <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>; if you like johnny then you'll really like what I'm posting later this week :) keep an eye out!</p><p>ALSO HOLY FUCK please talk to me about nct 2020 im losing my god-given mind</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. lavandula augustifolia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taeyong settles himself in the backseat of the car, behind Eunyong so Johnny can sit in the front and stretch his long legs out. They just dropped off a bag of Taeyong’s things at the bakery because he’ll be staying the night, along with the bouquet of flowers Taeyong had prepared, perched in a pretty glass vase. Eunyong buckles her seatbelt and adjusts her mirrors. She catches Taeyong’s eye in the reflection, and gives him a little smile.</p><p> </p><p>The ride to the airport is mostly silent, some throwback hits playing faintly on the radio. Taeyong watches the trees blur by, absently flipping his phone around in his hands. Today is a good day; his eye bags aren’t as noticeable, his breathing isn’t as strained, and he’s not cold. Eunyong said he barely looked sick at all. He hopes she’s right. He hopes Johnny won’t see it.</p><p> </p><p>They’re parking when he gets a text from Johnny saying he’s landed. They take their time on the way to the arrivals hall, stopping for snacks and smoothies. Taeyong sips at his yogurt smoothie, the strawberry-banana one for Johnny clutched in his other hand and numbing his fingers as they wait. </p><p> </p><p>Eunyong sees him first, and waves with her whole arm to catch his attention. He’s towing two suitcases, duffel bag strapped precariously on top of the larger one, his overstuffed backpack making him hunch his shoulders with its weight. He looks exhausted, but he smiles brightly when he sees them, and Taeyong feels his chest constrict a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, you guys,” Johnny says when he’s within earshot. He releases his bags to give first Eunyong, and then Taeyong a big hug, ignoring Taeyong’s weak warnings about spilling the smoothies. “Thanks for coming to pick me up. You look well, Eunyong, how are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m good!” Eunyong says, taking one of his bags and nodding them toward the exit. “How was your time abroad?”</p><p> </p><p>“Really good,” Johnny tells her, smiling and mouthing a thank-you to Taeyong, taking the offered smoothie. “I learned a lot!”</p><p> </p><p>They get back to the car and load all of Johnny’s things in the trunk and the backseat, and then start on their way home. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m so excited for Mark’s birthday party,” Johnny says as they get on the highway. “I’m really glad I didn’t have to miss it.</p><p> </p><p>“Better get lots of sleep tonight,” Eunyong says, sounding more like their mother than herself for a moment. “You must be really jet-lagged.”</p><p> </p><p>“All the better,” Johnny says, stifling a yawn. “I’ll sleep during the day, and be super awake for the party because I’ll be up at night.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re too tired, I don’t have to stay over,” Taeyong pipes up.</p><p> </p><p>“No, please stay,” Johnny says immediately. “I might not be awake the whole time, but I missed you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Missed you too,” Taeyong says, half on reflex, deflating back into his seat. </p><p> </p><p>Eunyong drops them off at the bakery, and helps them unload. Johnny’s dad comes out to greet them and helps move Johnny’s things upstairs. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sits on his sofa, aimlessly scrolling his phone while Johnny gets doted on by his parents downstairs. It’s still business hours, though, so he’s soon shooed up to his room to get some rest. </p><p> </p><p>“They’re really acting like I’d been gone for another year,” Johnny says, shaking his head and shutting the door. He notices the flowers, and runs a hand over the petals. “Did you do this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong says shyly. “Roses and carnations. To say I miss you.”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re beautiful, thank you,” Johnny murmurs, bending down to smell them before going to his bags. “So what did I miss?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not much, other than the preparations for Mark’s birthday party,” Taeyong replies. “He still thinks it’s just gonna be a casual night in, as far as I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, he’s clueless about pretty much everything,” Johnny says frankly, “so I don’t think he’s going to figure it out in the next 36 hours or so.” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be mean,” Taeyong chides, but he knows Johnny doesn’t mean it. “I’m excited to see his face.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you already do all the floral arrangements?” Johnny asks as he rummages through his luggage, extracting his toiletries. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Yuta wanted roses because he’s a big sap, so it wasn’t too hard,” Taeyong tells him with a laugh. “They’re a pretty sturdy flower, so leaving them overnight in the fridge should be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good.” Johnny sounds a little distracted. “That’s good. I’m gonna shower, and then we can catch up till I pass out, okay?”</p><p> </p><p><em> He’s probably just tired,</em> Taeyong thinks. “‘Kay,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>The faint roar of the shower starts up a few seconds after Johnny shuts the bathroom door, and Taeyong goes back to his phone. He’s straining to ask about Ten, but he also doesn’t want Johnny to bring him up, ever. He purses his lips, staring moodily at his screen. He thought he would feel better with Johnny back, but there’s an almost imperceptible barrier between them, somehow. Their conversation seemed cold and stunted. But if a year apart didn’t change a thing, why does it feel strange now? </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong has no idea. <em> He’s probably just tired, </em> he repeats to himself. <em> Tired, and probably still a little upset about Ten. You’re being paranoid.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> But what if the flowers were too much? What if he thinks it’s weird that you used roses, and then turned around and called Yuta a romantic sap for wanting bouquets of them for his boyfriend? Maybe he can tell somehow</em>, another little voice in his head points out.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong shakes his head. <em> That’s ridiculous. You’ve done nothing to give yourself away. Stop worrying. </em> </p><p> </p><p>He casts a glance at Johnny’s open suitcase, half emptied. His eyes catch something small and purple on the white sleeve of one of his sweaters. He slips off the couch and crouches, pinching it between his fingers and holding it up close. It’s a singular lavender bud, dark purple, mostly dry. Taeyong frowns. Johnny hadn’t mentioned going to a lavender farm. If he had, he would’ve sent pictures. </p><p> </p><p>He considers asking about it, but realizes that he’d have to admit snooping a little, and though he doubts Johnny would really mind or take offense, it’s not worth it to him to ask. So he just flicks it off his finger, back into the suitcase, and returns to the couch. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny comes out of the bathroom in just a towel, as usual, and Taeyong keeps his eyes trained on his dark phone screen as Johnny quickly pulls on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and then drops down on the couch beside him. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s really good to be home,” he says, a tired smile on his lips. “Airplanes aren’t built for anyone over, like, 170 centimeters tall.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but you love being tall,” Taeyong points out, though he gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s a bit cramped.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, I’m just being a baby,” Johnny says easily, running his fingers through his wet hair to help it dry. </p><p> </p><p>“So how was the course? And living in the city? The view from your apartment looks really cool,” Taeyong says.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it was good. I have some ideas, as usual. We’ll see if my parents want to listen to me, but I can always tuck them in my back pocket for later.” He grins. “Eventually, they’ll turn the shop over to me and then they won’t be able to stop me. But yeah, the city was good. It was a nice change of pace, but it definitely reminded me how much better I like it here.” He gives Taeyong a sideways look. “Besides, it’s not as nice when you’re away from everyone you love.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, the city life definitely suits you more than me,” Taeyong says. “You’re comfortable around people. I could picture you in one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ten said the same thing,” Johnny says, and Taeyong stiffens a little. “He was really surprised when I told him I was from a tiny town in the countryside.”</p><p> </p><p>“About him,” Taeyong says, swallowing hard. “Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Johnny replies. His eyes are on the wall, and his expression is distant. “He said my life seems full and warm. Those words exactly. It was just interesting, I guess, that he could tell.” He shoots Taeyong a smile. “He’s not wrong, though.” Something about the way he says it seems hollow, but Taeyong can’t put his finger on it. </p><p> </p><p>They chat for a little while longer. Johnny shows Taeyong a couple souvenirs as he unpacks a bit, but eventually he starts yawning and Taeyong shoos him to bed.</p><p> </p><p>“I can entertain myself. Go to sleep,” he says when Johnny tries to protest. “Want me to close the blinds?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny nods sleepily, so Taeyong tugs them shut and goes back to his phone. </p><p> </p><p>After a little while, though, Johnny’s snoring, and Taeyong moves from the couch to the bed. He tucks the covers a little closer around Johnny’s shoulders and then settles back to watch him for a bit. Taeyong wishes he could touch him, wishes he could stroke his hair but he’s afraid Johnny will wake up, so he contents himself with just looking. He allows himself to wander into the fantasy that Johnny will watch him the same way later tonight, when it’s his turn to sleep and Johnny’s turn to pace quietly. He imagines his soft smile, and it’s devastating.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sits like that for an hour or so. It’s how he knows he’s fucked, that even Johnny’s <em> snoring </em> is soothing and endearing to him. Eventually, though, he starts to creep himself out, so he moves back to the couch. He finds a copy of <em> The Little Prince </em> online after some shopping and begins to read—he’s been meaning to comb through it for hints after his rather disturbing dream a few nights before. </p><p> </p><p>It’s quick, easy reading, being a children’s book. Still, it’s more melancholy than he remembered, especially for a children’s book. He is nearing the end when he finds a section that strikes him so deeply he thinks he might cry.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He looks over at Johnny’s sleeping form. He’d spent his whole life learning how to love him. It seemed so fruitless for a moment—knowing that if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be where he is now. But he tries to imagine his life without Johnny—and he just can’t. </p><p> </p><p>It circles back to why he knew early on he’d never get the surgery. The love is worth it, in the end, even if it kills him. To carve this love out of him would be to throw away all the time he spent loving Johnny. </p><p> </p><p>It’s stupid, but it makes perfect sense to him all the same. <em> At least I’m at peace with the hand I’ve been dealt, </em> he thinks, remembering what Eunyong had said. <em> That’s good for something. </em></p><p> </p><p>A few more hours pass. Taeyong finishes the story and goes back to social media. Johnny barely shifts in the bed the whole time, so thoroughly exhausted he probably isn’t even dreaming. Taeyong’s pretty sure he’ll wake up with imprints all over his skin from the sheets. </p><p> </p><p>Around closing time, Taeyong hears footsteps coming up the stairs, and then Johnny’s mom pokes her head in the room. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, hi,” she stage-whispers when she realizes Johnny is asleep. “Dinner in a half an hour, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, thank you,” Taeyong replies. “Do you need any help?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” she says, waving him off. “We’re just heating up some leftovers, really. Besides, your mom told me how you’ve been wearing yourself out preparing for Mark’s party with the others. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Taeyong murmurs as she shuts the door, a little uncomfortable. <em> Wearing yourself out</em>. Like he’s a little kid who doesn’t know when to stop playing and come in for nap time. </p><p> </p><p>He wakes Johnny a little before the half hour is up.</p><p> </p><p>“What fuckin’ time is it?” Johnny groans, cracking open an eye. Taeyong is delighted to see he was right—there’s deep lines in the cheek that had been resting against the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>“Almost 6:30. Your mom said dinner soon,” Taeyong says, trying unsuccessfully to stifle giggles.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s so funny?” Johnny scrubs his face with his hands, yawning. </p><p> </p><p>“Go look at yourself in the mirror,” Taeyong laughs. “You look stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, thanks.” Johnny swings his long legs out of bed and pads over to the bathroom, flicking on the light. There’s a couple of beats of silence, and then he returns. “Okay, yeah, I do look stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, it means you slept well,” Taeyong assures him. “Dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, c’mon.”</p><p> </p><p>Dinner is quiet and warm. Taeyong mostly keeps his head down and lets the Seos catch up with each other, and then excuses himself from the table early to give them some space. He goes back upstairs and grabs his change of clothes and a towel from Johnny’s closet and locks himself in the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>He brushes his teeth quickly, trying not to look too long in the mirror, and then strips. He catches a glimpse of his shoulder blades, his spine, sharp and prominent against the pale skin of his back, and sighs, the breath shaky in his lungs. When he goes to turn the shower on, he notices something collected on top of the drain. Curious, and a little afraid, he bends down to pick it up.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a clump of lavender, just like the one he’d seen in Johnny’s suitcase, still a little damp. Understanding starts to settle over him. Fearfully, he backtracks to the garbage can and sifts through gingerly, poking at balled up tissues until he finds it—crumpled lavender, no stems but some green at the base of the buds, wet and fresh.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong tosses the cluster he found in the shower in and buries it all again, and then sits back on the cold tile. Johnny is in love with somebody and they don’t love him back. Well, <em> correction </em>, Johnny’s probably in love with a boy—lavender has become a symbol of homosexuality ever since the Lavender Scare of the 20s. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong thinks of Ten, and thinks of how strange and empty Johnny has been acting, and it clicks in his mind. Of course he’d be acting weird. At least Taeyong gets to spend his last months with the boy he loves. Johnny is oceans away, still reeling from the breakup, and walking around with the knowledge that he’s going to die. It makes perfect sense why he doesn’t want to talk about Ten much, and it almost makes sense that he wouldn’t tell Taeyong about it. Isn’t that what Taeyong’s been doing to him this whole time? </p><p> </p><p>He sighs, picking himself up off the floor, and steps into the shower. <em> Do I ask him about it</em>? he wonders to himself. But if he starts asking questions, he has a feeling Johnny may very well turn those same questions back around at him, and Taeyong’s not sure how great he’s going to be at lying to his face. Besides, if Johnny wanted him to know, he would’ve told him. He should be allowed to tell him when he wants to. Plus, Taeyong doesn’t want Johnny to worry about his grieving, the way Taeyong is with Doyoung and Eunyong. If Johnny doesn’t want him to worry about him, then it’s best he believes that Taeyong doesn’t know anything is wrong.</p><p> </p><p>He dries off and gets dressed on autopilot, still turning it all over in his head. <em> At least I’ll be the first to go, </em> he thinks to himself, kind of selfishly. <em> I don’t want to be at his funeral. I don’t want to see him in pain. </em></p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s back upstairs when Taeyong comes out of the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he says when he sees him. “Wanna watch a movie?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees, setting his stuff down. “You pick.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny picks <em> Begin Again </em>, one of his favorites, and they settle down to watch. Taeyong is yawning by the time the credits start rolling, though, and Johnny immediately turns it off and pushes him to the bed. </p><p> </p><p>“I got to sleep earlier, now you have to,” he insists. “I’ll be here in the morning, c’mon.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong crawls into bed, but to his surprise Johnny follows after turning off the lights.</p><p> </p><p>“Thought you weren’t sleepy?” he asks as Johnny tucks the covers around both of them.</p><p> </p><p>“I missed you, dumbass, let me cuddle my best friend,” he says, sounding much more like his normal self. Taeyong laughs, rolling his eyes, and curls up against Johnny’s shoulder, shuffling to squish the pillow up under his jaw. Johnny watches him as he gets comfortable, and reaches out to poke his collarbone. “My mom says your mom is worried about you,” he murmurs. “Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “And it sounds like you and your mom and my mom are in cahoots, so I wouldn’t tell you anyway because you’d snitch.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never snitched in my life!” Johnny is indignant, but his hand stays where it is, tracing Taeyong’s collarbone back and forth.</p><p> </p><p>“What about that time you promised you wouldn’t tell my mom about me throwing up at track practice, and then you did? Ooh, or that time you told Doyoung it was me that lost his favorite pen? Or—“</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, the second one is simply comeuppance,” Johnny defends. “He was going to find out sooner or later anyway. And the first one is called <em> taking care of you</em>, which is what friends do. It’s what I’m trying to do now. If I swear I won’t tell anybody, will you tell me what’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing’s going on,” Taeyong says, closing his eyes. “Just been tired lately. You know how at the end of summer you kind of feel like you’re dying, and you’re sad all the time for no reason? It’s just that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Johnny says, like he doesn’t believe him, but he withdraws his hand and stops asking. “Go to sleep, then. Big day tomorrow. Yuta will kill us if we’re not in top shape.”</p><p> </p><p>“He probably will,” Taeyong agrees, laughing. “Can’t blame him, though. He loves Mark, and he went through a lot to get here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, he’s lucky, though,” Johnny says. There’s a beat of silence, and Taeyong doesn’t want to ask what he means because he already knows. “Okay, goodnight, Taeyong.”</p><p> </p><p>“G’night, Johnny,” Taeyong whispers back, closing his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sleeps late, unable to wrench himself from another confusing dream, and Johnny has coffee brewing for him when he finally wakes. He looks tired and a little harried, but Taeyong doesn’t mention it, just thanks him for the coffee and asks if he’s eaten.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I was thinking we could go poke around the kitchen to see what we could scrounge up. There’s probably day-old scones,” Johnny suggests. “We can’t sell them, so… might as well eat them. And then I’ll probably sleep.”</p><p> </p><p>They eat their scones quietly, and then Taeyong goes to brush his teeth so he can pop across the street to the shop to check in with his parents. Johnny settles down into bed, and Taeyong draws the blinds shut so he can sleep peacefully.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going,” he says, unsure if Johnny is still awake. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours or so, okay? Probably with food.”</p><p> </p><p>“Something with noodles would be much appreciated,” Johnny murmurs, shifting under the covers. “Hey, Taeyong?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s hand is on the doorknob, but he drops it back to his side. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure you’re alright?” Johnny asks.</p><p> </p><p><em> Look who’s talking! </em>“Yeah,” Taeyong says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Last night, you were crying in your sleep,” Johnny says softly. “You didn’t really wake up, so I don’t think you’d remember, but… Well. I guess it was just a nightmare.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t really… um, I don’t really remember my dreams,” Taeyong says quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, that’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s another weird beat of silence, and then Taeyong just sighs to himself and turns the doorknob. “Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be back soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Kay. Say hi to your parents for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will do.” Taeyong shuts the door behind him and hurries down the stairs, popping his head into the kitchen to let Johnny’s parents know where he’s going.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, sounds good!” Mr. Seo calls.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I get you guys anything while I’m out?” Taeyong asks, <em> poster child for filial piety </em> ringing in his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“No, but thank you for offering,” Mr. Seo replies, waving him off.</p><p> </p><p>So Taeyong heads across the street and slips into the shop. His mother beckons him over and sets him to work separating wilting flowers from healthy ones. Eunyong joins him after a little bit, and they work in companionable silence, pointing out flowers the other missed, and taking turns changing out the compost bag.</p><p> </p><p>“You seem a little upset,” Eunyong says softly. “Which, I mean, makes sense, considering—everything. But I think there’s something else.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it here,” Taeyong whispers back. “I’ll tell you tonight, after the party, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Eunyong agrees. “If you don’t want Mom to start asking, though, you better fix your expression. You look like you want to cry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Taeyong mutters.</p><p> </p><p>His parents send him back to get Johnny up when the customers begin to dwindle, telling Taeyong they’ll help bring Mark’s bouquets out when he’s ready to go. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s still sleeping when he gets back, so Taeyong decides to let him sleep a little longer, taking a quick shower and changing into something a little nicer for the night ahead. He swipes on some concealer to soften his dark circles, and does his best to style his hair. He turns in the mirror, and is, for the first time in a while, actually quite pleased with his appearance. He’s wearing a black button down with little white leaves spaced intermittently down it. Normally he’d unbutton a couple more buttons, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to his sunken sternum, so only the top two remain undone. He’s paired it with ripped black jeans and lots of silver jewelry. His earrings flash in the light when he moves his head. He’s… almost <em> pretty</em>, and it makes him smile.</p><p> </p><p>He packs up his things and then goes to shake Johnny’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Party in an hour. Thought you might want some time to get ready.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Johnny says, voice hoarse, brushing sleep from his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong smiles a little, going to open the blinds and let in the early evening light. “We have to swing by the shop for the flowers, but that shouldn’t take too long.” He turns to see Johnny looking at him. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You look good,” Johnny says with a light laugh, pushing himself out of bed. “I like that shirt.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Taeyong says softly, biting at his nails as he drops to the couch and waits for Johnny to be ready. Johnny pulls on light wash jeans and when he turns around to rummage through his closet for a shirt, Taeyong is definitely <em> not </em>staring at his ass. He finally settles on a short sleeve white button up, though he leaves his very unbuttoned, much to the detriment of Taeyong’s sanity. He grins as he struggles to tuck it in, asking Taeyong to pick out a couple necklaces for him.</p><p> </p><p>When they’re both satisfied with their appearances, they head down to the parking lot and hop into Johnny’s car, then pull around the back of the flower shop so Taeyong’s parents can load the bouquets in. Taeyong texts Yuta that they’re on their way, and Johnny drives down the road to Chenle’s house. It’s a little removed, mostly due to its size, and closer to the ocean. Taeyong can smell salt on the breeze when he steps out of the car. </p><p> </p><p>Chenle is at the door, shepherding people in, and he waves hello. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi Taeyong! Welcome back, Johnny! Yuta has strict orders that the bouquets go on the stairs.” Chenle points to the large platforms on top of the posts of the railings. “One on each. And then the last one in the center of the dinner table.”</p><p> </p><p>They set to work helping with the last-minute decorations, and then Chenle calls around the corner from the foyer, where they’ll all wait and hide until Yuta arrives with Mark in tow. Taeyong flattens himself against the wall next to Johnny, Doyoung on his other side. Johnny shoots him a happy, excited grin.</p><p> </p><p>They only have a few minutes to wait, soft breathless conversations bubbling up and consequently getting aggressively shushed when they get too loud, and then the door is opening, and they hear Mark’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh, roses,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>“For you.” Yuta’s voice is full of sugar, and Doyoung mimes throwing up into his palms.</p><p> </p><p>“It is… really quiet, though,” Mark says, suspicion working its way into his voice. “Yuta, is this a prank?”</p><p> </p><p>Before Yuta can respond, Donghyuck gives the signal and they all burst into action, spilling out into the foyer. “Surprise!”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck!” Mark yelps, even though he had to have been expecting it, half-collapsing against Yuta’s side. “Wait, did you guys set this all up?”</p><p> </p><p>“This is only the start! Your boyfriend was working us all to the bone,” Yukhei informs him, earning himself a smack from Sicheng for being rude. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, we made the dining room really pretty. And there’s so many drinks for you to try,” Jeno says, before an argument can break out. </p><p> </p><p>Dinner is loud and rowdy, and Taeyong thinks Chenle’s parents have to be either <em> very </em>trusting or simply too rich to care to allow a bunch of idiot boys into their home for a night of drinking. Still, he supposes, none of them are particularly violent, at least toward inanimate objects, so the china cabinet should remain untouched.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, though, they’ve eaten their fill and they head to the basement. Chenle has a pool table and a literal bar down there, as well as a TV with an Xbox and a speaker system, so it’s basically every young person’s idea of a good time. Jaehyun is put in charge of the aux, and soon bass is thrumming in Taeyong’s ears as he sips his third (or maybe fourth?) cup of sangria, pressing a stray piece of strawberry into the roof of his mouth with his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t slip his notice that Johnny disappears a couple of times during the night to the bathroom. Taeyong’s surprised he, himself, hasn’t yet, either, but he supposes it’s because his body is getting weaker, and won’t be assed to cough the flowers up until they’re much more mature. Johnny’s in the earliest stages, by his guess, so any disruption would have his lungs crying for help.</p><p> </p><p>Still, he feels like he has to bring it up. “So, Uno reverse card, are <em> you </em>okay?” he asks when Johnny slinks back into the party for the third time. The music is lower now, and a few of their friends have already passed out on various couches. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” Johnny asks.</p><p> </p><p>“You keep disappearing. I know you’re not going to throw up because you haven’t been drinking, since you’re driving us home. So what’s up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just peeing, Christ. Why are you so up my ass about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m allowed to be worried, right?” Taeyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, and so am I, which means that’s your last cup,” Johnny says sternly, flicking the rim to punctuate his point. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s definitely right, because Taeyong sneaks another cup or two anyway, and the rest of the night is a little spotty in his memories. He definitely remembers a rather disgruntled-looking Kun ushering Yuta and Mark out of the door, probably before they end up fucking in one of the guest rooms. He remembers seeing Jeno and Jaemin curled up together on the L-shaped sectional in the corner, fast asleep. He remembers going up to the top floor to look at the sea from the balcony with Johnny, Kunhang, and Jisung, and Kunhang nearly plummeting down to the yard three stories below. He remembers Renjun and Chenle getting in a really heated argument over video games that only ended because Doyoung intervened. He remembers Johnny, flushed from all the shouting and running around, propping him upright against his chest, swaying them around the center of the room to a slower song as the night wound down.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” Taeyong looks up at him, trying really hard to focus his eyes. Johnny laughs. “We should get you home, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees. His lips feel numb and his legs don’t feel like his own, but it doesn’t matter because Johnny’s strong arms are around his waist and shoulders. He allows himself this moment of weakness, leaning into Johnny, pretending everything is alright. They trip up the stairs and out into the driveway. Johnny half-guides, half-lowers Taeyong into the passenger seat and buckles him in, and then circles to the other side, sliding in and starting the car.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you not to have any more,” Johnny says, but he’s mostly just saying it to say it.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m okay,” Taeyong says. “I’ll just go straight to bed.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can barely understand what you’re saying,” Johnny chuckles as he turns out onto the road. “You’re lucky I’m patient, and I’ve been thrown up on so many times I’ve lost count.”</p><p> </p><p>“‘M not gonna throw up,” Taeyong protests, but he proves himself wrong as soon as Johnny parks in his driveway, shoving the door open and hurling the contents of his stomach into the grass.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Johnny says, tired but soothing. He helps Taeyong back to his feet and then digs around in the flower pot by the door for the spare key.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong does feel a lot better after throwing up, but he still lets Johnny help him up to his room.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry for being so high-maintenance,” he mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny rolls his eyes. “You’re only high-maintenance when you’re drunk. I’m high-maintenance all the time.” He nudges Taeyong into the bathroom, plopping down in an armchair. “I’ll wait out here and even tuck you into bed when you’re ready, you big baby.” Taeyong just giggles.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, Taeyong’s nestled comfortably under the covers, air conditioning humming pleasantly in the corner, trash can right by the head of his bed. “Thanks, Johnny,” he whispers.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Johnny replies, flicking off the light and then crossing back over to him. “Sleep well. Text me when you get up so I know you survived the night, okay?” There’s humor in his voice, but some unnameable sadness underneath it that Taeyong can’t place. “Love you, dude. See you later.”</p><p> </p><p>“Love you, too,” Taeyong replies. The heat of Johnny’s hand disappears from his shoulder, and he’s left alone in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong is waiting downstairs the next morning, breakfast cooling on the table, when Taeyong gets up. </p><p> </p><p>“Mom and Dad are already at the shop,” she says. “I wanna know what’s bothering you. I told them you were probably hungover and would need a little coddling.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sighs, sliding into the chair across from Eunyong and giving a grateful groan when she passes him some coffee. “You were right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Suck it up, I’m not a coddler.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.” Taeyong takes a long sip of coffee, thinking about where to start. “Well. Johnny had a very short relationship with a guy when he was at the training program, right? It lasted about two-ish weeks? Anyway, he had invited him to come back with him to see this place, but he said no, and they broke up. I don’t think Johnny is over him, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Eunyong makes a sympathetic face. “I’m sorry, Taeyong. Does he talk about him a lot?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, that’s not it. He doesn’t really talk about him. And if that were all, it wouldn’t even be that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things,” Taeyong continues. “No, Eunyong, I think Johnny has hanahaki, too. For Ten—for that guy. I found wet lavender buds in his trash last night, and in the shower. I even found one in his suitcase.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” Eunyong repeats. “Oh my god. Are you—are you gonna ask him about it?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong shakes his head. “No, I… I don’t want to have that conversation with him, because then I’ll have to tell him I have it too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you wouldn’t <em> have </em>to—“ Eunyong begins, but Taeyong cuts her off.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but I should.” He shakes his head. “I’m not ready for that, so I doubt he is either. He’s got enough to worry about without having to worry about me on top of it, in any case.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes I wonder if you actually hear the words that come out of your mouth,” Eunyong says, rolling her eyes. “Okay, play the martyr then, if you want. My official suggestion would be to talk to him as soon as possible, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll give it a little while longer,” Taeyong says. “Still no blood, remember? I have time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi hi! tumblr <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here!</a> please check out my other works if you're interested! i should have some more new stuff (like, actual series not just random little works) ready to go before the end of october ^^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. rosa x alba</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There will be heavy elements of witchcraft in this chapter! I am going based off of how <i>I</i> practice, so if it seems unfamiliar to you, it's likely just that we were taught differently ^^ I did my best to make it understandable to those who aren't at all well-versed with modern witchcraft!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A couple days later, Taeyong coughs out whole white roses, including withered stems, and, more importantly, thorns. There’s blood, but just small flecks of it, not clotted in clumps, so Taeyong knows it’s from the thorns and not just what’s collected in his lungs. Still, it’s horrifying and painful.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong paces his room once he’s cleaned himself up, throat still raw and stinging. <em> Johnny has it so easy</em>, he finds himself thinking, bitter. <em> Lavender is such a small, sweet flower. You would hardly be able to feel it. </em>He immediately feels bad for thinking it, though. </p><p> </p><p>Some hope that maybe, just maybe, Johnny would love him back had come and gone over the past few months, as much as Taeyong had tried to suppress it. But now with that option being solidly out of the way, he feels almost spiteful. He still doesn’t want the surgery, of course, but he’s restless. He wants to do <em> something</em>, he just doesn’t know what. </p><p> </p><p>Eunyong finds him one evening on the floor of his bathroom, cleaning up spots of blood from white tile. He doesn’t get the chance to hide it, and she nearly drops the package of macarons she’s brought upstairs for them to share. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought you said no blood!” she accuses, standing in the doorway, staring.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not—it’s from the roses, not from my lungs,” Taeyong says, his voice hoarse and small. He looks down at the white flowers in his hands, and realizes tears are blurring his vision, half from the pain, half from exhaustion.</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong cautiously comes up to him, setting the package on the counter and taking the paper towel from him and finishing the work. “I’ll bring you a little bag to put them in,” she says, nodding at the flowers. “We’ll throw it in the compost outside.” Taeyong makes a quiet noise so that she knows he’s listening. “I had a feeling we’d get around to roses eventually,” she continues, voice soft. “Because of course you would. And white ones at that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Silent devotion,” Taeyong says, coughing out a short, wry laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Eunyong says. “You gonna be okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“It hurts, Eunyong,” he replies, voice breaking. “It hurts, and I—” He swallows, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t wanna die,” he whispers.</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong stops what she’s doing, kneeling in front of him, and wraps her arms around his bony shoulders, pulling him into her chest. “I know,” she says, gentle as she can, though Taeyong recognizes that her tone is spiked with pain. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t there anything we can do? Not the surgery, just something to lessen my feelings so the flowers go away?” he asks, even though he remembers Yuta wondering the same thing, and coming up with nothing. “We’re witches, we know other witches. There has to be something.”</p><p> </p><p>To his surprise, though, Eunyong hums thoughtfully instead of saying no right away. “Well.” She draws back a little. “There might be something.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong blinks at her. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been turning it over in my head for the last couple of days,” she says slowly. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring it up, because—I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m forcing it on you, you know? It’s your choice.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“When I was younger, I got lost hiking. Remember that day—you were still really young, like eleven or twelve years old—when I came home late and Mom and Dad yelled at me for hours? I was out in the woods, and I followed this girl and lost the trail. Luckily, she found me, and she was nice enough to guide me home. She’s a hereditary witch, kind of eclectic, but with ceremonial roots. I learned a little from her, and we still talk sometimes. She rarely comes into town, because it’s a bit of a walk, to be honest, and she gets everything she needs from the woods.” Eunyong smiles a little. “She’s a few years older than me. Her parents passed last year and I helped her complete a grief ritual. I’m wondering if she wouldn’t be able to throw something together for you—a sort of cord-cutting ritual to help weaken your emotions and uproot the flowers.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s her name?” Taeyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Gyunghui. Do you want to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“It won’t take my love away completely? I won’t end up like Kunhang or Yukhei?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure if she can,” Eunyong warns quickly. “We’ll have to ask. But I think she might be able to at least try something.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods. “Well, we might as well. I’m dying anyway. As long as she doesn’t kill me in the process, I don’t see how it can hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong gives him a look, but just nods. “Okay,” she says. “We’ll go tomorrow, then.”</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>They set out in the mid-morning. Eunyong says it’ll take a couple hours to get to Gyunghui’s house, and she wants to give plenty of buffer time. She’s carrying a backpack with some snacks and water, and, of course, her wallet. Taeyong had offered to hold something, but one sharp glare from Eunyong had shut him right up.</p><p> </p><p>The air is muggy and hot, and the shade of the trees offers only small comfort. Eunyong helps him when it gets steep, going on ahead to set down the pack and then coming back to guide him up the slopes. It’s very slow going, and it’s long past noon before the terrain evens out a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>The undergrowth gets lusher, and Eunyong pushes past some branches, arching and crossing over one another, and the trail is gone. Still, it’s pretty level, and the grass is a soft relief after the rocks and dust, and it’s beautiful and quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“Why have I never come here before?” Taeyong asks, blinking in surprise as a few birds emerge from a bush nearby. “It’s lovely.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s hard to find, and even harder to find your way out of if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Eunyong explains. “I didn’t want to bring you because I know Gyunghui likes her privacy, and I knew you’d probably tell Johnny even if I told you not to, and then eventually all of your stupid friends would be stomping through here.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fair,” Taeyong admits, laughing to himself. “Well, my lips are sealed.”</p><p> </p><p>“They better be.”</p><p> </p><p>It takes what Taeyong guesses to be about another hour of walking before they come across a house. It’s beautiful—wood painted white and a dark green door, a pretty, sprawling garden that encroaches on the wilderness beyond. There’s a young woman bent over a plant out front, and she raises her head as they approach, shielding her eyes from the light.</p><p> </p><p>“Eunyong,” she greets warmly. “I was wondering when you’d drop by.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Gyunghui,” Eunyong says. “How are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m good,” Gyunghui replies, dusting her hands off on the front of her skirt and stepping out into the little path that leads up to her front door. “Is this your baby brother?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Eunyong says fondly. “This is Taeyong.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to meet you,” Taeyong says, bowing quickly as they come to a stop a few feet away, not sure how to feel about <em> baby brother </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui surveys him for a moment, furrowing her brow. “You’re sick,” she murmurs. “I see. No use dancing around it, then. Come in. Let’s see what we can do for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s hanahaki,” Taeyong blurts as she turns around, leading them back inside.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” she says, her tone suggesting she had already guessed it,. “I’m not sure how much I can do, but I can try. We’ll talk about it over tea.”</p><p> </p><p>Her house is dark and cool despite the heat outside, and the apparent lack of air conditioning. She offloads some blackberries from her pockets and lights a fire under her kettle, then goes to her cupboard and pulls out a container of little cookies. “Lavender and thyme,” she explains. “And honey. Please, take as many as you like.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Eunyong says, taking a seat and gesturing for Taeyong to do the same.</p><p> </p><p>When their tea is brewing in a pretty glass pot in the center of her little wooden table, she finally directs her attention to Taeyong.</p><p> </p><p>“So, I’m assuming you don’t want the surgery, but you also don’t want to die,” she says, a little bluntly. “And you’ve come to me to see if there’s anything I can do to help you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Taeyong says, nodding. “If you can’t—that’s okay. I just—I don’t want to give up my love, but I don’t want to die from it, either. Is there a way to lessen it somehow, or kill the flowers without removing the love, too?”</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui taps her fingers at the table, studying the grain of the wood. “I know my grandmother used to have some kind of remedy,” she says slowly. “But my mother was young when she passed away, so she never learned it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. I’ve tried pouring over her old grimoires, but I haven’t found anything concrete. Some of the writing is faded, some pages are missing…” She shakes her head. “Still, I’ve pieced a little something together. I haven’t tried it before, but I’m pretty sure it won’t take your love away.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are there any risks?” Eunyong asks before Taeyong can even open his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“It could make it worse,” Gyunghui says with a heavy sigh, giving them both a very apologetic look. “As I said, I’ve never tried it before. But I think the idea is similar to how viruses can become drug-resistant. If it doesn’t kill the flowers, then it’s highly likely they’ll come back stronger than before. The goal is to uproot them but not remove them, to preserve the love, and to create an emotional environment in the body that no longer fosters their growth, so that they cannot take root again. But if they do manage to take root, the same ritual won’t have any effect, because they will have already adapted to survive in the new environment. It would probably advance your symptoms. I wouldn’t be able to help you there.”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong presses her lips together and turns to Taeyong. “I don’t like it,” she says. “But it’s up to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a whole lot longer,” he says, picking at his cuticles. “Shortening that time by a little won’t make a huge difference. Honestly, at this point I wouldn’t mind. It wouldn’t be so drawn out that way. If that’s the worst that can happen, and there’s a chance it could work… I want to do it.”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong sighs. “I thought you might say that,” she says. “But I understand.” She looks over at Gyunghui. “I’d like to help, if I can.”</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui nods. “It’ll probably be good to have an extra set of hands on deck, especially if it’s someone as skilled as you.” She gives Taeyong a kind smile. “It’s good you come from a family of witches, too,” she says. “Less explaining to do.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “It’ll be better to do it around sunset,” she says. “We have a couple of hours to kill, and it’s never good to go into strenuous rituals like these on an empty stomach. How about some real food?”</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>The kitchen is glowing orange from the sun by the time they’ve finished washing the dishes. Gyunghui grabs a few things from the cupboard, and tells Eunyong to get an egg from the fridge. Taeyong smiles a little in understanding; it’s common in grief spells, especially self-administered ones—the egg is used to absorb negative energies. Despite his predicament, Taeyong finds himself trying to store everything away in his mind. He always likes learning new magic. Maybe that’s why he feels so calm.</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui leads them upstairs to a big room, empty in the center and lined all around with cabinets, counters, and other shelving. Everywhere he looks, Taeyong sees various magical tools or ingredients. It’s like the Nakamoto’s apothecary and the herbalist shop that Kunhang works at smashed into one, but with an even wider selection. Taeyong turns in a circle in the center of the room as Gyunghui rummages through the drawers for candles and matches.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong, if you could stay right there for the moment, that would be good. Oh, but take off your shirt, if you don’t mind. We need access to your bare chest.” She says it offhand as she deposits a pile of black and silver candles on the ground and crosses the room to another cupboard.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods, tugging his shirt off and handing it to Eunyong, who hangs it on the little coat rack by the door. “Are, um, are my shorts okay?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, that’s fine,” Gyunghui says. She’s found what she needed, cradling a large assortment of objects in her arms. “Eunyong, could you grab a couple of these? I need to go down to the stream to fill this with water.” Eunyong takes a few of the items from her gingerly and together they lay them out on the ground. “It should only take me a moment,” Gyunghui continues. “Taeyong, could you dress those candles? Lilac on the black ones, base to tip, and lavender on the silver, tip to base. Eunyong, matches are there. Would you mind cleansing the room with that sage bundle? There’s ceramic trays in this drawer.” Gyunghui taps a drawer near the door with the hand that isn’t holding an ornate glass bowl. “Start in the far corner—”</p><p> </p><p>“—because you’ll still need to come back in the door, yes,” Eunyong says, catching on. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sits, scooping his materials towards him. <em> Violet on black, away to banish grief and anger; lavender on silver, towards to bring it sweetness and reassurance, </em>he reminds himself as he unscrews the cap to the violet essential oil. Gyunghui is down the stairs before Eunyong even retrieves the dish. She plucks up the bundle—black sage, from what Taeyong can tell—and lays it on the dish, pausing on her way to the back corner of the room to open the window. It’s silent, except for the sound of a match striking the box.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong waits until Eunyong has the bundle on a steady, low smoke before he speaks. “Thank you for being here,” he says quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“I would never leave you all alone,” Eunyong replies simply, and a melancholy guilt bubbles up in his stomach. He knows it’s not what she means, but he can’t help but think that’s how she feels. For an instant, he considers getting the surgery, if only for his sister, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to live with that decision. It would kill him, so it wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. </p><p> </p><p>He watches in between candles as she makes her steady way around the room. Gyunghui comes back in and sets the bowl down, shutting the door, and the two women work around each other, Eunyong finishing the saging, while Gyunghui pours some Florida water out onto a black cloth and swipes it in a large circle around Taeyong, pausing before closing it and looking up to where Eunyong is finishing back where she started.</p><p> </p><p>“Done?” she asks, and Eunyong nods. “Enter here, then,” she says, nodding to the space next to her hand. Eunyong puts the sage back down on the little tray and steps through delicately where Gyunghui indicated. Once she’s safely inside, Gyunghui swipes the rag over the open space and then drops it on the ground. She takes the sage from Eunyong and uses it to cleanse herself, then Eunyong, and finally Taeyong. Taeyong holds his breath stiffly to avoid choking on the smoke as Gyunghui uses her free hand to fan it, before replacing the now very small bundle back on the tray and putting it on the floor to burn out. </p><p> </p><p>She bunches up the top layer of her skirt to create a sling, and puts the now-anointed black and silver candles in it. She picks up a beautiful selenite athame, with a thin black cord wound tight around the handle and a tri-moon symbol carved into the base of the blade, and moves directly behind Taeyong, facing the wall. He glances over his shoulder to watch. Eunyong has picked up the matches and stands close by.</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui raises the athame to eye level for a moment, then lowers it to the floor at her feet, blade pointing out. “Watchtowers of the East, Spirits of Air, I call upon you to witness our rites and watch over this sacred circle.” She extracts first a black candle and then a silver one, and alternates with about a foot of space between them, marking off the circle. Eunyong follows behind, lighting them as they go. Facing the wall to Taeyong’s left, now, she takes from the pile of supplies a large red candle, wick already black, and places it ninety degrees around the circle from the athame. “Watchtowers of the South, Spirits of Fire, I call upon you to witness our rites and watch over this sacred circle.” She nods to Eunyong to light it, and they continue down this side of the circle with the black and silver candles until they reach the center of the wall in front of Taeyong. </p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui takes the dish of water and places it carefully on the floor. “Watchtowers of the West, Spirits of Water, I call upon you to witness our rites and watch over this sacred circle.” Again, they place the candles after, following the shape Gyunghui had traced with the Florida water, until they are across the circle from the red candle. Gyunghui drags a heavy stone dish, filled nearly to the top with black salt, to her feet. Taeyong can see the candlelight and weakening sunlight glinting off the large metal pentacle that rests on top of the salt. “Watchtowers of the North, Spirits of Earth, I call upon you to witness our rites and watch over this sacred ritual.” They finish filling the last empty area with candles, and then come back to the center, in front of Taeyong. Gyunghui looks first to the ground, then the ceiling, and then closes her eyes. “Thank you. The circle is cast.”</p><p> </p><p>When she opens her eyes, they are on Taeyong, who is still sitting cross-legged on the floor. Though it’s warm, he shivers a little. He rarely casts circles, as his mother had instilled a healthy fear of the spirits in both him and Eunyong at an early age. </p><p> </p><p>“What now?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Intention is key, as it always is with magic.” Gyunghui unwinds a black rope, wrapping it six times in loops from her palm to her elbow as she speaks. “You must be willing to loosen your grip on the love you have buried so deep in your chest in order for this to work. I am not asking you to give it up, I’m simply asking you to give it space. Can you do that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Taeyong says. <em> I’ll try </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Good.” She crouches in front of him. “I’m going to bind your ankles and wrists with this, and Eunyong will roll the egg across your skin. As she does this, I want you to visualize the negative and stifling energies that are holding you hostage being sucked out with its movement. Once it reaches your hands, you will cut yourself free with a dagger. Eunyong will use the Florida water to seal and protect this action while I burn the rope, and then we will close the circle, and you’ll be free to go. And we will hope it worked.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods solemnly and offers his wrists. She wraps the rope around them, leaving a short length of it in between—he assumes this is so he can reach it with the dagger when it’s time to cut it. Once it’s secure, she connects it to his feet, twining it around his ankles and tying it in a knot. She moves back to light some incense—sandalwood and dragon's blood and something else he can’t place—and Eunyong picks up the egg and sits in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong closes his eyes, following the movement of the egg with his mind, the smooth, cool shell raising goosebumps in its wake. He imagines his hands clasped so tightly around his red string of fate that leads not to Johnny or anybody else but into the darkness. Maybe there’s nothing on the other end, or something worse, but either way in order to find out he knows he has to let go. He’s lulled by the sounds of the bugs coming out as the sun sets, by Eunyong’s steady breathing, by the red light from the candles that filters in through his eyelids. The air is heavy with incense and smoke. He imagines each breath clearing his lungs.</p><p> </p><p>He’s shaking by the time Eunyong takes the egg away. Something about the mental exercise, however easy it felt to complete, has drained him. Gyunghui is holding out a dagger, sharp, curved silver, balanced on her flat palms a few inches from his hand. He takes it and poises it under the rope binding his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“Before each cut, repeat this: ‘I release the ties that bind me.’ Slice back and forth,” she instructs. “I just sharpened that blade, so just be sure to hold the rope as taut as you can. It shouldn’t be hard.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong swallows, and nods. He spreads his feet as far as the rope will allow. “I release the ties that bind me,” he repeats, and draws his arm upward, through the rope.</p><p> </p><p>“Good, and again.”</p><p> </p><p>It takes a little maneuvering, but he manages to hold the knife over the rope between his hands. “I release the ties that bind me.” This cut is harder, partially because of the angle, and partially because his hands and arms feel limp and weak, but he forces it through. </p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui tugs him free of the rope as it falls, taking the knife back, and collecting all the pieces of the rope in a small black cauldron. Taeyong is shaking violently now, uncontrollably, and Eunyong eases him onto his back, kneeling by his side, bottle of Florida water in one hand. She spreads it across his chest with the pads of her fingers, starting from the center and drawing deliberate strokes out, down to his ribs and up his neck to his chin. Taeyong blinks, trying to focus his eyes, but the edges are hazy and he can barely make out the lines of the ceiling above him. He hears the matches again, and smells the acrid tang of fresh smoke.</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong’s face appears in his field of vision, blurry and swimming before his eyes. “Hey, Taeyong? Are you okay? You’re shivering so hard I can hear your teeth knocking against each other.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong tries to form a reply, but his lips are heavy, cheeks are heavy, eyelids, all so heavy. He didn’t even realize he was shivering until she said it, but now the rattling of his teeth in his skull is all he can hear.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong?” Eunyong repeats, definitely afraid now. <em> I’m okay, </em> he thinks. <em> Just so tired. </em>“Gyunghui-unnie, come here, something’s wrong—”</p><p><br/>
Taeyong’s vision goes black. The last thing he remembers is feeling a <em> thud </em>when Gyunghui sets the cauldron down, reverberating in his spine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">tumblr here</a> </p><p>also um not superm getting a tumblr i hate that</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. fritillaria camschatcensis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taeyong wakes up in his bed at home. He’s drenched in sweat and the blinds are closed. He’s alone, but he hears quiet shuffling and conversation downstairs. He groans softly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He definitely had some strange, scary dreams—the trembling and soreness isn’t just him recovering from the day before alone. It’s always been like that, though, recently, and the fading pieces of his dream quickly take the back burner as his memories catch up with his body. He tries a deep breath, and it’s smooth and whole. It almost makes him dizzy—he just keeps inhaling, and nothing’s in the way, and he doesn’t start coughing. It’s so strange, and so easy. He presses into his chest with the heel of his hand, but the ache is dull. </p><p> </p><p>He stretches, standing, and goes to open the blinds. Bright sunlight hits his face, but he smiles into it, letting his eyes flutter shut, and pads over to his dresser, pulling together an outfit. He’s fastening his belt when he hears feet on the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>It’s Eunyong, mug of steaming lemon water clutched in her hands. “Taeyong,” she says, barely above a whisper, eyes wide. She hurries to put the cup down and shuffles over to him with her arms outstretched. “Oh, you’re awake! You’re okay! Oh my god,” she says into his shoulder. “How do you feel?”</p><p> </p><p>“Like I can actually breathe,” Taeyong says, almost hesitantly. He doesn’t quite want to believe it—it feels too perfect. “I mean, it’s too early to tell, but I—I feel good. Or, I feel better, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good, that’s good.” She pulls back, brushing some of his hair from his eyes. “We’ll need to get you a haircut,” she says with a giggle.</p><p> </p><p>“What’d you tell Mom and Dad?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Just that we went hiking, and you fell and hit your head. They’ll probably want you to go get checked that you don’t have a concussion.” Eunyong shrugs. “But we can always just not do it and say we did, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a bad influence,” Taeyong says, but he’s laughing. “So what—what happened after I passed out?”</p><p> </p><p>The smile dies on Eunyong’s face. “I was so scared,” she says. “You were breathing, but you weren’t moving or responding. And we had to wait for the rope to finish burning before we closed the circle. Once it finally did, we closed it as fast as we could, and I called Doyoung. Luckily, he was still awake, and he drove to the edge of the woods to meet us. I told him not to come into the forest in case he got lost in the dark. Gyunghui helped me carry you down. She told me that if you ended up with a fever, to just let you sweat it out. Once Doyoung was there to meet me, she went back to her house. He drove us home and got you up into bed while I tried to calm Mom and Dad down. I told him not to tell anyone what happened. He said he’d tell a few of the others you got into a hiking accident, but that you’d probably be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck, my phone,” Taeyong says. “I bet he told Johnny, and I bet he’s worried.” He pauses, waiting for the telltale tightness, but nothing comes. </p><p> </p><p>Eunyong is watching him carefully. “Nothing?” she asks hopefully. </p><p> </p><p>“Not yet,” Taeyong says, unplugging his phone and clicking it on.</p><p> </p><p>He’s got a few concerned texts from Johnny, Yuta, and a couple of the others, as well as a vaguely threatening one from Doyoung that makes him laugh. He types back a couple quick responses and then looks back up at his sister.</p><p> </p><p>“You should probably come talk to Mom and Dad,” she says. “They’ve taken a half-day off at the shop and everything. Go on, so they can stop their worrying.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods, pocketing his phone and leading the way back downstairs. Their parents are in the kitchen; his father is pushing food around on his plate, and his mother is cooking absently. They both drop everything and look up when he enters.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry for worrying you,” he says softly as his mother folds him into a hug. “I’m okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can take him to the doctor tomorrow,” Eunyong pipes up. “Just to be sure. But he seems fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny said he’d look after me for the day,” Taeyong says, gesturing to his phone with a light laugh. “So don’t worry. I’ll be in good hands. Please don’t miss work because of me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re sure you’re alright?” His mom draws back but holds his hands, squeezing gently.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Taeyong says, hoping he’s telling the truth. “I’m okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong walks him over to the bakery so she can go start opening the shop, and Taeyong makes his way up the stairs, waving a hello to the Seos when he passes by. He knocks on Johnny’s door, and after some shuffling, Johnny pulls it open.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong,” he says. “I—you’re all right? Doyoung said you were out cold.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sweeps a hand up and down the length of his body. “I’m all in one piece, aren’t I? I was already tired from hiking, and I hit my head,” he explains. “So I think my body just decided to shut down for a little. But I’m good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, good.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a beat.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, thanks for inviting me over,” Taeyong says awkwardly. “Puts my parents’ minds at ease.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Johnny says. “No, I don’t mind. You’re always welcome here.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s another beat, and Taeyong feels his skin prickle. <em> When did we get so unfamiliar? </em>he wonders as he drops down on the couch, Johnny still hovering in the middle of the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you—” he begins, but Johnny starts talking at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>“I was really scared last night,” he says, voice small. “I didn’t sleep well. Doyoung told me not to worry but—how could I not?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Taeyong replies, at a loss.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not your fault.” Johnny sits down next to him, his eyes far away. “I just couldn’t stop catastrophizing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m alright.” Taeyong looks over at him, trying to read his mood, but Johnny is inscrutable. “So what do you want to do today, then?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny blinks, thinking for a moment, and then just shrugs. “Why don’t we play games or something? Is that okay? I just want to escape reality for a second.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Taeyong agrees, settling back into the couch as Johnny goes to set up and fetch the controllers. He doesn’t ask why. He already knows.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>He stays until evening. It’s strange; he feels fine, but he also feels like he’s tiptoeing around himself—like at any moment, he could collapse. But so far, nothing’s happened. They play games, and chat, and after the initial layer of awkwardness goes away, things feel normal. Like Johnny had never been gone. Like none of this had ever happened. Like they were both healthy, like they were both fine, like they had all the time in the world.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny even says he looks a little better—“It’s weird, considering last night, but you seem, like, healthier than before,”—and Taeyong just nods and shrugs and mutters something about maybe having come down with a cold. </p><p> </p><p>And Taeyong finds himself watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he’s still just as alluring as ever. He still loves him; there’s no doubt about that. It’s a relief—sweet and whole in his stomach; whatever happens, at least he has that. But the tightness isn’t really there anymore, so maybe he really is fine?</p><p> </p><p>The sky is growing dark now. They lay sprawled sideways across Johnny’s bed, music blaring over Johnny’s little speaker. Johnny is humming along, engrossed in something on his phone, and Taeyong watches him, the crease of his brow, the working of his throat. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny turns his head and catches him looking, but he just gives him a blinding smile, the kind that nearly hides his eyes, and Taeyong feels his breath catch in his throat. He’s so <em> beautiful</em>, and Taeyong is so in <em> love</em>—</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong feels coughs threatening as Johnny looks away and his heart sinks, all the way down to the basement floor. As subtly and calmly as he can, he peels himself up off the bed and shuffles into the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>And god—that’s what he gets for hoping, right? He wheezes in and tries to let it come up gently but he knows the deep thrumming of his coughing can be heard even over the music. He doesn’t have space to worry about it, though, clutching the seat of the toilet and convulsing so hard he almost smacks his head on it. </p><p> </p><p>When he opens his eyes, he sees the deep purple of chocolate lilies, covered in thick, sticky blood. He heaves again, vaguely aware that the music has stopped, and more blood and leaves and stems come out, with violent force Taeyong hasn’t ever felt before. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong registers the bathroom door being flung open as he sits back, exhausted, clumsily swiping the back of his hand across his mouth in an attempt to clean off the blood. He drops to his back, and sees Johnny standing over him. There’s fear and confusion on his face, but there’s also some kind of hollow grief that overshadows it all. Taeyong’s too tired to react. He lets Johnny drop to his knees, lets him cradle his head in his lap. Through it all, all he can feel is the pads of Johnny’s fingers against his scalp, brushing rhythmically.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong,” Johnny murmurs, voice thick with hurt. </p><p> </p><p>“I know you have it, too,” Taeyong rasps softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, too,” Johnny replies, brows pinched, and then he’s crying. “I wish I could tell you who—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay if you can’t,” Taeyong says. “I can’t, either.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s shaking from how hard he’s crying. “There’s so much blood,” he says. “How long do you have?”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably a couple weeks,” Taeyong admits. Johnny hiccups in a gasp of shock. “If that.” He finds a stray blossom on the floor beside him and holds it up to the light. “Chocolate lilies,” he says, half under his breath, pinching the bloody petals between his fingers. “Rice root flower.”</p><p> </p><p>“What does it mean?” Johnny asks softly. He barely spares the flower a glance, eyes glued to Taeyong’s.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s eyelids feel heavy, though. He’s drifting in and out; so, so tired, and sad, and weak from the blood loss. “It has to do with love and curses,” he says, words blurring together a little. “Isn’t it interesting? For the same flower. It could mean either. It could mean both.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’d never consider the surgery, would you?” Johnny asks, brushing some hair off his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you?” Taeyong challenges, and Johnny just nods to say <em> fair point</em>. “Does anybody know about you?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny shakes his head. “I don’t know how to bring that up,” he says. “I mean, really, how do you?” He sighs. “What about you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just Doyoung and Eunyong,” Taeyong tells him. Johnny nudges him up into a sitting position. “I’ll tell everyone soon. I mean, I don’t have much of a choice.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny makes a soft pained noise in the back of his throat, tugging Taeyong to his feet, bracing him against the side of his body, and taking him to the sink so he can rinse off his face and swish the blood from his mouth. “What really happened yesterday?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong can hardly think, the fatigue and strong grip Johnny has on his waist mixing to make him a little delirious. He laughs, but even to him it sounds wild and unsteady. “I went to a witch in the woods to see if she could fix it,” he says. “To kill the flowers without taking my love away. She warned me it might accelerate it instead. Clearly…” he gestures to the mess. “I wish I could recommend her services.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny gives a disbelieving snort, like he’s shocked Taeyong is still trying to be funny. “Should I call Eunyong, have her pick you up?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong thinks about having to go back to his big, empty bedroom, dark and alone, with Eunyong trying discreetly to care for him without his parents knowing, and shakes his head. “Can I stay?” he whispers. “I don’t have the energy to pretend around my parents right now, and I want to tell them when I feel a little better, so it isn’t as scary.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” Johnny agrees, half-carrying him out of the bathroom and to the bed. “You can borrow a couple of my things.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Taeyong murmurs. “I’m sorry to impose.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not,” Johnny says quickly. “Especially now—I want to spend as much time as possible together.”</p><p> </p><p>“Think you might have to get in line for that one in a couple days,” Taeyong says softly with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not that popular,” Johnny shoots back and Taeyong’s smile grows to a grin. “Besides, I’m the one that’s been away. I get dibs.” He sticks his tongue out at Taeyong as he hands him a big t-shirt and a pair of old shorts. “I’ll go clean up the bathroom while you change.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong winces as he accepts the clothes. “Sorry about that.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to make you do it,” he says as he disappears into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind him. </p><p> </p><p>As terrible as it all is—the crushing realization that there’s nothing he can do now, the new blood, the reality that he will soon have to say goodbye—at least the awkward space between him and Johnny is gone now. At least they can go through it together, another shared experience, another common thread, another thing that keeps them bound to each other. <em> Best friends </em>, he thinks, both fond and bitter, as Johnny reemerges from the bathroom and goes to turn out the lights. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not late,” Taeyong protests. “We don’t have to go to bed yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re tired,” Johnny says. “And so am I.” The bed dips under his weight as he slides in beside Taeyong, pulling the covers up over both of them. “I know, we don’t have much time left. But we do still have tomorrow. And that’s good enough, I suppose, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong blinks, nodding, and settles into the pillow. He can barely make out Johnny’s features, but he traces them diligently anyway, even if he has to strain his eyes. Even if he’s already done it a hundred thousand times. Even if he already has him memorized.</p><p> </p><p>The silence between them is comfortable, and Taeyong relaxes into it, listening to Johnny’s soft, steady breathing. </p><p> </p><p>“We should go to the beach again tomorrow,” Johnny suggests after many minutes have passed. “You know, they used to just like, take people down to the sea to make them better when they were sick. I’m not saying it’ll help, but it might.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong scoffs. “That worked because in the olden times, people were holed up in weird houses with no ventilation and, like, asbestos, so fresh air was all they needed to feel better.” But he relents. “Yeah, let’s go. It’ll be nice, at any rate.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your parents won’t mind?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, I’ll just have Eunyong tell them she’s taking me to the doctor because they still think I just fell and hit my head, and that I have a concussion.” Taeyong giggles a little at that. “By the time they have the chance to figure out it’s a lie, I’ll already have told them the truth anyway, so…”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Johnny agrees, begrudging amusement in his voice. He reaches across to grab Taeyong and pull him closer. “Hey. How long have you known that I’m sick?”</p><p> </p><p>“I knew the night you got back,” Taeyong admits, somewhat sheepish. “I saw lavender in your shower, and in your trash. I didn’t want to bring it up, because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready—but now, I mean, I feel like I kind of had to let you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, probably a good idea. Though I would’ve told you anyway, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the ‘I think’ that makes me sure I made the right decision,” Taeyong remarks. </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up. Go to sleep,” Johnny mutters, and Taeyong laughs, but nods all the same.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, fine. You get some sleep, too,” he adds, and Johnny hums in agreement, the vibrations in his throat and chest buzzing lightly against Taeyong’s skull.</p><p><br/><em> So, yeah</em>, he thinks as he drifts off. <em> This sucks. This really sucks. But it’s also nice, almost sweet. </em>As much as he didn’t want to tell anybody, there’s always a great sense of relief that comes with it. He doesn’t have to hide anymore. It’s something about grief, he figures, and the need for it to be witnessed. Yes, it’s true that none of them can do a thing for him. Nothing they say can make it better. But they can be there to sit with him in it—this big, empty feeling, like a wound that won’t stop bleeding—so it isn’t so scary, so he doesn’t have to be alone. And that’s something. It’s soothing to know, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>want more Taeyong? go check out my new yutae fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635774">here</a>! (please heed the tags n warnings!)</p><p>catch me on tumblr <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>, anon is always on and im happy to scream w u all about nct 2020 ^^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. primula vulagaris</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Johnny’s awake when Taeyong stirs, but he’s still in bed next to him, eyes on his phone. Taeyong yawns softly, stretching a little, and Johnny puts his phone down, smiling. </p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” he says, voice still a little rough from sleep, and Taeyong’s stomach feels like a Slinky pushed down ten flights of stairs. </p><p> </p><p>“Morning,” Taeyong replies. “What time is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Around ten,” Johnny says. “I already texted Eunyong. She said she’d pretend to be taking you to the doctor and then just say she dropped you back off here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, thank you.” Taeyong sits up, brushing sleep from his eyes. “Oh, I should probably text Doyoung. I promised him I would tell him when the blood started.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny nods, and they both wrench themselves from the warm comfort of the bed. Taeyong taps away at his phone as Johnny starts boiling some water for coffee. <b>Johnny’s taking care of me today, though</b><b><em>, </em> </b> he tells Doyoung. <b>So don’t worry.</b></p><p> </p><p><b>Is that wise? </b>Doyoung asks.</p><p> </p><p><b>Probably not, but it’s what I want</b><b><em>, </em> </b>Taeyong types back, and Doyoung just likes the message.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny hands him his coffee. “You should eat something,” he says softly.</p><p> </p><p>“You should, too. Let’s pack a picnic for the beach,” Taeyong suggests, and Johnny nods. “You’ll be okay to drive?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny rolls his eyes. “I’m nowhere near as sick as you.” </p><p> </p><p>As if in effort to disprove this point, he starts coughing. He drops down on the mattress next to Taeyong, hands over his mouth, and Taeyong frowns, rubbing his back as his coughs make his shake with their force. Johnny lifts his head, and Taeyong sees yellow rose petals in his palms.</p><p> </p><p>“They changed,” Johnny observes unhelpfully. “What are these, roses?” Taeyong just nods. “What does it mean?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond. Yellow, <em> for jealousy, for losing love, or for friendship</em>. None of them feel good to say, but he tells him anyway. Johnny doesn’t respond, just balls them up in his fist and goes to throw them out. Taeyong has no idea which definition made him so upset, but he knows at least one did. He doesn’t ask, though. He doesn’t want to know. </p><p> </p><p>They pack up some baked goods and some drinks, and then hit the road. The drive to the beach is mostly silent; they listen to the radio and look out on the scenery as it passes by. It’s not awkward, though. Whenever they catch each other’s eye, they smile.</p><p> </p><p>The sun isn’t out in full force today and it’s a little windy, so the sea looks a little grey. <em> It’s kind of fitting</em>, Taeyong thinks to himself as he helps Johnny set up their things in the sand. <em> The beach feels melancholy with us. </em></p><p> </p><p>They settle on the blanket together, and share scones and chat a little. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you,” Johnny asks. “Do you feel guilty for having it sometimes? Because I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong thinks about it for a second. “A little, yeah,” he murmurs. “It feels kind of dumb sometimes. And I feel bad for not wanting the surgery. But I—I saw what happened to Yukhei. I don’t want to risk it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just…” Taeyong looks up, and Johnny’s lips are pressed into a thin line of distress. “I feel so bad for my mom,” he whispers. “She shouldn’t—she wouldn’t want this for me. I mean—no one would, but… you know how close we are. And I’m her only child. She says I’m everything to her. I feel so awful, knowing she’ll have to attend my funeral. I mean, at least she has my dad. But I can’t help but feel like I’m—like I’m leaving her all alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Taeyong rests his head against Johnny’s shoulder. “At least my family has one another. And our families have each other, too. They’ll be okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s still frowning, though. “It just feels so deeply selfish.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re allowed to choose what you want for yourself,” Taeyong says. “Yeah, it won’t be easy for everyone else, but you can’t make your decisions based on what you think everyone else wants. You know what you need.”</p><p> </p><p>“What if what I need is to make sure my parents die happy and loved?” Johnny asks.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what <em> you </em> think <em> they </em> need,” Taeyong says. “Listen, Johnny, I can’t tell you what to do. If you want to get the surgery, then get the surgery. It’s up to you. If you think you’ll be happier that way, then do it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I feel like I <em> should</em>,” Johnny says, picking at some lint on his shorts. “It would be hard, but—I mean, I know I’m glad Yukhei and Kunhang are still around. And I think they are too. It <em> would </em> be hard, of course, but I would have them. It would be—“ He swallows. “It would be easier if you were there with me, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Taeyong says quietly. “I know.” </p><p> </p><p>That’s the thing, about Johnny and Taeyong. Johnny is loud and funny, and he’s big, so people don’t always see how kind and selfless he is. Taeyong, everyone views as a martyr because he’s sweet and soft-spoken, and he’s made a habit of giving. But it’s never been because he was so gracious. It’s because it’s the only way he can sleep at night, knowing he’s done what he can to make up for the space he takes in the world. His kindness, his willingness to help others, has never been a virtue. It has always been a disguise. It has always been a punishment. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny, though, Johnny is just gentle by nature. And here, it’s clear. When it comes down to choosing what’s easiest for himself, and easiest for everyone else in his life, he wants to choose others. Even now. Taeyong always knew this, though. Johnny is better than him, has always been better than him, every time. </p><p> </p><p>“I think I’ll just wait for now, though.” Johnny continues. “I can’t help but hope that things will just work out on their own. I can’t help but hope that he’ll love me back.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong hums, even though his stomach is sinking, “Me too,” he whispers. “It’s the worst, the hoping. It’s incurable.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least I have you now,” Johnny says. “At least someone is with me who understands.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s better together,” Taeyong agrees. He sighs, and pushes himself to his feet. “Well, we might as well have some fun while we can. Come to the water with me. If our stuff gets stolen, then… it gets stolen. The world is ending anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs and stands, too. “Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s go. I’ll race you.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes off in a flying sprint, and Taeyong chases after, yelling his protests all the way down to the shore. Johnny splashes in, and Taeyong trips over himself as he finally joins him. It’s a little cold, but Taeyong doesn’t mind. Johnny splashes him, and he splashes back, and soon they’re shouting with laughter as they run around in little circles, drenching each other as they go. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong stops to catch his breath for a moment. He’s so weak, and he hates it so much, that he can barely have any fun now without the reminder that none of it will last long. He bends over a little, hands on his knees, to help himself breathe. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny comes up next to him. “You okay?” he asks, concerned.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine,” Taeyong replies. “Just—hard to breathe sometimes, is—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, though. He starts coughing, so hard it makes him dizzy. Johnny takes his hand and guides him out of the water. Taeyong leans against him, grateful the beach is mostly empty, coughing drily as Johnny slowly guides him back to their blanket. He sits down heavily, and Johnny rips off a bunch of paper towels for him to catch the wreckage with. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong vomits up whole primroses, pink stained dark from the blood. The blood keeps coming, even when the stems are already out, just blood and little clumps of rotted leaves and petals. Taeyong can’t think, just focuses on breathing. The blood soaks through the paper towels; he can feel it sticking to his skin. He’s reeling, forcing himself upright by support of his hands, head lolled forward, so heavy.</p><p> </p><p>When he comes to, he’s in the car. Johnny is driving tersely beside him. They’re on their way back to town.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, Taeyong, you scared me,” Johnny says when he notices Taeyong is awake. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m okay,” Taeyong says, on reflex, sitting up slowly and looking around. He sees that Johnny managed to not only carry him, but also all of their belongings to the car. They’re stacked haphazardly in the backseat.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sure. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Johnny says. “Do you think we should take you to the hospital?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong is silent for a moment, assessing his body. He usually fainted when he donated blood, so he’s not surprised he fainted just now. He feels a little weak, but not terribly so. He shakes his head. “No, I think I just need electrolytes or something,” he decides. “And rest.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny gives him a hard look. “Okay,” he says dubiously. “We’ll stay at mine for a couple hours to let you rest, and then I’m taking you home. And you should tell your parents.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Taeyong says with a sigh. “And thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Johnny says. They drive the rest of the way in silence.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny helps him inside and up to his room. Taeyong insists he can handle himself, and takes a quick shower while Johnny unloads the rest of their things from the car. Then, he curls up in bed, shivering. Johnny comes up the stairs with a couple of bottles of Gatorade and a big cup of water. Taeyong laughs a little to himself—of course Johnny would have Gatorade on hand—and accepts the bottles.</p><p> </p><p>“I know I’ll have to tell my parents soon,” Taeyong says. “But I really don’t want to. I don’t want to break their hearts.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you don’t tell them, I will,” Johnny threatens. “If you haven’t told them by Jaemin’s birthday, I’ll do it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will, I swear I will,” Taeyong says quickly, taking another long pull from one of the Gatorade bottles until it’s empty. “Is it okay if I nap?” Taeyong asks. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been very much fun today.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny nods immediately. “It’s not your job to be entertaining,” he says. “Rest. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours so you can make it home for dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Taeyong murmurs, already half asleep when Johnny flicks off the lights. </p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>Johnny comes to get him a few hours later, true to his word, and helps him pack up his things. Taeyong’s feeling better—the nap and the two bottles of Gatorade did the trick. <em> Maybe I’ll tell them tonight, </em> he thinks as Johnny starts the car. </p><p> </p><p>They pull up outside Taeyong’s house. Taeyong looks over at Johnny. “Thank you for today. I’m sorry you had to—to deal with that.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Johnny says. “I don’t mind. It’s you, so…” He shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he repeats.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll see you soon,” Taeyong promises. “I’ll be staying home this coming Tuesday, so you should come over. I feel like we’ve only ever been at yours.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Johnny agrees. Taeyong scoots out of the car. “Tell your fucking parents, okay?” Johnny calls after him before the door shuts.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong just gives him a wide grin and a thumbs up through the window. Johnny responds by rolling his eyes and putting the car in drive. Taeyong watches him leave, waits until the red of his taillights has faded, and then heads inside.</p><p> </p><p>His mom is stirring a pot of something on the stove while his dad carries finished dishes to the table, and Eunyong washes dirtied bowls in the sink. It’s a little noisy, but peaceful. His mom smiles when he comes in.</p><p> </p><p>“Eunyong told me they didn’t think you were concussed,” she says happily. “That’s really good news. How’s Johnny?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong swallows the words in his mouth. She’s in such a good mood. He doesn’t want to ruin such a nice family dinner. “Johnny’s good,” Taeyong says. “Finally no longer jet lagged. Can I help with anything?”</p><p> </p><p>He ends up joining Eunyong at the sink, helping with the dishes, and then they all sit down to eat. His dad cracks stupid jokes, and when Taeyong laughs, Eunyong tells him not to encourage him. They are whole this way; their parents on one side of the table with Eunyong and Taeyong across from them. No unfilled chairs. No awkward silence. Talk of blood and hanahaki disease doesn’t belong in this warm light. Right now, at this table, it almost feels like it doesn’t even exist.</p><p> </p><p><em> I’ll tell them tomorrow</em>, he thinks as he watches his mother’s face light up with another smile. <em> Let’s have one more day of their dream come true—a happy, unbroken family, with no troubles. </em></p><p> </p><p>He climbs up the stairs to bed, feeling keenly how his body rattles with every breath. He imagines the flowers snaking up his throat, tendrils closing around his trachea, blooms sprouting out of his mouth. It’s nice that he gets to die surrounded by flowers. It’s beautiful; poetic, even. And even if it’s kind of not, it’s still nice to think of it that way. It’s soothing, and it helps him sleep.</p><p> </p><p>He watches the moon again, poking her face into the corner of his skylight. He hopes Johnny will get the surgery, if it’s what he wants. He doesn’t like to imagine their little town, or the world, without Johnny in it. </p><p><br/>
He thinks about his primroses. <em> I can’t live without you</em>—that’s literally what they mean. He can’t; and he can’t die either knowing Johnny wouldn’t be far behind. It’s hypocritical of him, but—well. As he said. Johnny is better than him. Every time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! find me on tumblr <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>! I also just added a link to my carrd on my profile, but you can find that <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.carrd.co">here</a>!</p><p>i'm working on a new fic as we speak! if you would be so kind as to fill out a survey for me, i'll link that <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdzfucNpy-ipPc2VZqSzPkkXnEeJ1f5kDBOMKWuuFHqKE_XdQ/viewform?usp=sf_link">here</a>! Just want some opinions on pairings ^^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. lycoris radiata</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Johnny comes over that Tuesday, and he spends a lot of the time just going around Taeyong’s room. “I can’t believe I still haven’t been up here for a sleepover or something since I got back,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s because I have other people in this house, and your place is empty after hours,” Taeyong replies. “So it’s better.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still, I forgot how nice your room is. I love the weird slopes from the roof,” Johnny says. “It makes me feel like I’m living in a cozy little cabin.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong giggles. “Me too,” he admits. “That’s why I wanted it.”</p><p> </p><p>Once Johnny’s satisfied that he’s gotten reacquainted with Taeyong’s bedroom, Taeyong takes him back down to the kitchen so they can cook together. It’s comfortable, and reminds Taeyong of coming home after school to make snacks before they had to start on their homework. It was only like five or six years ago, but already it feels like a lifetime away. It’s a shocking comparison to where they are now.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you tell your parents?” Johnny asks softly as they eat. His tone tells Taeyong that he knows he hasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Taeyong says heavily. “I was going to do it that night, but then when I came in, everyone just seemed so happy, and I didn’t want to spoil the evening, so I didn’t. And then they’ve been busy, so…”</p><p> </p><p>“I meant what I said about Jaemin’s birthday,” Johnny said, pointing at Taeyong with his chopsticks. “I’ll tell ‘em for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I know, I know,” Taeyong replies. “I just don’t know how to say, like, ‘Hey, guess what! I’m dying and there’s nothing anybody can do about it!’ You know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Johnny says. “You <em> could </em> get the surgery.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong drops his chopsticks down onto the plate and leans back in his chair. “I can’t do that,” he says. “You <em> know </em> I can’t do that. I wouldn’t ask you to do it, so why are you asking me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m different,” Johnny says softly. “Besides, I really might get it. But that’s neither here nor there—you’re so important, Taeyong. So many people love you. Whoever this guy is, he’s not worth dying over.”</p><p> </p><p>“That argument can be made for either of us,” Taeyong points out with a short, angry huff of breath. “So both of us taking the chance and getting the surgery together might make sense, but not only one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you getting mad? I’m just trying to save your life.” Johnny sounds a little exasperated. </p><p> </p><p>“Because you’re not being fair!” Taeyong replies. He’s raised his voice. He’s always the first to raise his voice. “I don’t need you to try and save my life. This disease, it’s not another school bully you get to play hero against, okay? It’s just life! We both have to deal with it. It’s just that sometimes shitty things happen, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do. And it sucks, and I’m sorry, but that’s my final decision.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then at least tell people, so it doesn’t come as a shock!” Johnny says.</p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t told anybody either,” Taeyong shoots back. He doesn’t understand why they’re arguing. But Johnny’s being so unreasonable, and it’s getting on his nerves. “You don’t get to tell me when I have to tell people about <em> my </em>life. Just like I wouldn’t tell you what to do about yours. Why are you being so pushy?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, but you and I are <em> not </em> in the same boat right now. Look in the mirror, Taeyong!” Johnny is looking at him like he can’t believe he doesn’t understand. “You are a <em> skeleton </em> with a thin layer of skin stretched over. You’re almost dead, you’re almost out of time. I can afford to wait a little longer. You can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to tell me how I look!” Taeyong exclaims. “I <em> know </em>I look gaunt, I know I look like a ghost. I know I’m dying. Would you just let me do it on my own terms?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? And what about everyone else? What about everybody else’s terms?” Johnny challenges. “Once you die, you’re <em> dead</em>, Taeyong, and you don’t have to deal with the aftermath. The rest of us will.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not fair,” Taeyong repeats, voice small now. “I’m not like you. I can’t—I can’t give this love up just because it’s more convenient for other people.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t see how I can either, but I’m trying to,” Johnny says. “C’mon. Get the surgery with me. I’ll do it if you do.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not fair, either,” Taeyong says, feeling tears threaten behind his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Why not? Did you just say a minute ago it would only make sense if we both did it together?” Johnny asks. “I don’t want to survive this if you won’t do it with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Normally, Taeyong would be touched, but right now he just feels manipulated. “Johnny, stop it. I <em> can’t</em>, and you can’t fucking hold <em> your </em> life over my head like that. I don’t want to get the surgery. If you do, get it. Don’t not get it, and then say it’s because I wouldn’t get it with you. That’s stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not,” Johnny argues. “Please, Yong. I want us to grow old together, running our families’ businesses. I want to see you happy. I don’t want this to be my last—my last memories of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sound like you’ve made up your mind,” Taeyong says. “So I don’t know why we’re still talking about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I hate that you’ve made up yours,” Johnny says.</p><p> </p><p>“Then hate it! It’s not your decision.” Taeyong stands sharply, disturbing the bowls on the table. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. You’re normally so kind. Why are you pressuring me to do something I don’t want to do?”</p><p> </p><p>“When did you get so selfish?” Johnny asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, you’re the one that’s being selfish!” Taeyong can’t stop himself from shouting. “You’re acting like this will only be hard for you. This is what life has given us. Now we each make a choice, and learn to bear that choice. I chose from the beginning. I’ve been staring death in the face for two months. You think I’m not scared? You think that makes me selfish? You have no idea what it’s been like.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like you bothered to tell me, so how could I?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong wants to scream. He wants to hit Johnny, or throw a bowl, or storm up to his room. How can Johnny be so dense? He didn’t tell him <em>for</em> <em>him</em>, so he wouldn’t worry, so he could focus on his life and his studies in peace. “Get out,” he says softly. “Clearly we’re not going to solve this right now, so get out.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny stares for a second, and then just stands, nodding. “Okay, sure,” he says. Without another word, he sweeps up his things and is out the front door, closing it with a sharp click.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong collapses on the floor, heaving out sobs. <em> What the fuck was that about? </em> He doesn’t even know. It was just that suddenly Johnny was saying all kinds of terrible things, and Taeyong was saying horrible things back, too. <em> When did we get like this </em> ? he wonders. <em> Why did he want me to get the surgery so bad? He knows how I feel about it. Why would he bring it up at all? Why would he keep pressing it? </em></p><p> </p><p>Taeyong feels a familiar obstruction in his throat, and he resigns himself to coughing up flowers on the kitchen floor. They come up in groups, multiple flowers joined only at the base by their roots, thick, rigid stems painful as they twist around each other. Taeyong thinks his throat might crack and explode from the pressure.</p><p> </p><p>And then there’s the blood, coming up thick and dark and sticky, the smell filling Taeyong’s head and making him nauseous. He slumps against the cool tile of the floor, weakly examining a flower through one open eye. Red spider lilies, beautiful and delicate, for abandonment. <em> Never to meet again</em>. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a horrifying thought, but Taeyong is too exhausted to feel his grief. In the back of his mind, he knows he needs to clean up, because finding her son passed out in a pool of his own blood is probably the worst way for his mother to be told the news, but he’s so comfortable, and so tired. Still, he tries to at least push himself up into a sitting position. The exertion is proven to be too much for him. His vision goes black.</p><p> </p><p>He wakes up staring at the kitchen ceiling. He sits up slowly, and checks the clock. Only a few minutes have passed. Luckily, the floor of the kitchen is easy to clean, and he’s already by the fridge, so grabbing some kind of energy drink won’t be a chore. He scoots over to the fridge, gingerly avoiding the pool of blood and flowers, not trusting his legs to stand. He reaches up for whatever bright blue, off-brand drink his dad is buying these days and drinks slowly, back against the closed refrigerator door, eyes only half open.</p><p> </p><p>His breath and his strength come back to him slowly, but eventually he feels well enough to peel himself up off the floor. He’s trembling as he goes to throw the empty bottle in the recycling. He sighs, surveying the mess, and then goes and scoops up the flowers with a paper towel before setting to work at scrubbing the blood away before it stains. He’s shaking still, and he starts crying again as he swipes at the puddle. He’s alone now; Johnny is angry with him and he has to tell his parents soon. With all the blood he’s coughing up every day, he probably has a couple weeks at best. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t let himself wallow until the floor is clean, and then he curls up on the couch, dirty dishes with half-eaten food now cold on the table. He can’t be bothered with it, though. He’s so tired.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t realize how long he’s been sitting there, dozing in and out, until he hears the door open, and the voices of his parents and his sister fill the house. He sits up, fiddling with his hands. They don’t come into the living room, instead going to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong? Are you here?” his mom calls.</p><p> </p><p>“In the living room,” he calls back. “Can you guys—can you guys come in here a second? All of you. We need to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>“O-okay,” his mom replies. They come around the corner, all three of them, Eunyong arm in arm with their mother, their father trailing behind. He locks eyes with Eunyong and she gives him a sad look.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, sit,” he says softly. “You’ll probably want to be.”</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong,” his father says as he takes the armchair, letting Eunyong and his mother sit on the couch beside him. “You’re scaring us. What’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s mother is at his side, and she takes one of his hands in hers. Taeyong meets her gaze, and then has to tear his eyes away immediately. There’s so much confusion and fear there. He can’t watch it turn to grief and horror.</p><p> </p><p>“Um,” he says, staring at his lap. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve been a bit sickly lately. And I’m sorry for worrying you, and for keeping it to myself. I just—I didn’t want you to have to hurt, when there was nothing you could do. I—I have hanahaki disease.” Now that he’s started, he can’t stop talking, and he’s glad the only interruption is his mother gasping sharply. “I’ve had it for a couple of months now. I’m—I’m not going to get the surgery. I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, if I did. I’m really, really sorry. I know it’s not fair.”</p><p> </p><p>His mother reaches out to him, swiping tears off his cheeks that he didn’t even know were there, folding him into her chest. “It’s okay,” she murmurs into his hair. He sobs softly as she rubs his back; slow, soothing movements. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault.” </p><p> </p><p>He almost wishes she’d get angry at him. It’s what he deserves, for tearing their family apart, for ripping himself from their lives, all for a stupid crush. If anyone is allowed to beg and plead for him to get the surgery, it would be his mother. She should push him away, she should force him into the car and drive him to the hospital, berating him the whole way. They all should.</p><p> </p><p>But instead, he feels more arms around him. Eunyong is hugging his mother, one hand reaching out to stroke his hair, and his father is standing over them, forehead knocking against one of Taeyong’s temples. It only makes him cry harder.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to do this alone,” his dad says softly. “You’ve made your choice for yourself, but that doesn’t mean you have to deal with it by yourself. We’ll take care of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you tell us who it is?” His mother’s voice is gentle, not demanding.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t,” he insists. He doesn’t want them to look at Johnny any different. He doesn’t want to strain their relationship with the Seos. “I can’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s okay,” his mom says immediately. “You don’t have to.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Appa</em>,” Taeyong cries. “<em>Eomma</em>. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” his mom tells him. “All you did was fall in love.”</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>His parents put him to bed that night, tuck him in like they used to do when he was little. Despite their reassurances, he still can’t stop apologizing. </p><p> </p><p>“Worry about yourself first,” his mother admonishes gently. “We’ll be okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong can’t respond to that. That’s the whole problem to begin with—that he’s thought too much for himself and not enough for the people he loves. There’s nothing to worry for himself, really. Johnny’s right—he’s dying, and then he’ll be dead, and that will be all for him. He doesn’t have to deal with what comes next. His parents try to stay calm in front of him, but he doesn’t miss the way his mom grips his dad’s hand so tight the skin wrinkles. He hears them crying together when they go downstairs, his parents and his sister, trying to learn how to fill the hole he’ll leave behind. </p><p> </p><p>He sighs, rolling over in bed, and calls Doyoung.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” Doyoung asks. He doesn’t even say hello.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I just told my parents,” he tells him. “I think Eunyong is staying, so at least they won’t be alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it’s good you told them,” Doyoung says heavily. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it to Jaemin’s birthday party,” Taeyong says, biting his lip. “I’m just—I’m so weak. I passed out again today.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Doyoung says. “Will you tell them?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’ll wait until after his birthday, at least,” Taeyong says. “I still have a little time. There’s something else, though. Johnny and I had a fight today.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, god, about what?” Doyoung asks.</p><p> </p><p>“He kept trying to push me to get the surgery, and couldn’t understand why I was saying no,” Taeyong says. It’s more than that, of course, but he doesn’t want to reveal Johnny’s awful secret to Doyoung. He’s done enough damage for one day. “I don’t know, I told him to get out, and now… now I’m worried I won’t see him before I... before I die.”</p><p> </p><p>Doyoung sighs. “He’ll come around,” he says gently. “I’ll talk to him for you, if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to,” Taeyong says. “It’s just been so strange.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Doyoung says. “I’ll come hang out tomorrow, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Taeyong agrees.</p><p> </p><p>“Get some rest. I know it’s probably hard to,” Doyoung says. “But it’s kind of the only thing you <em> can </em>do.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. Thanks, Doie,” Taeyong says.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I love you. See you in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Love you, too. See you.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong settles onto his back, staring up at the vague lines of the ceiling in the dark. It’s still early, but he’s exhausted. He’ll worry about his family tomorrow. He’ll consider texting Johnny tomorrow. He’ll face his heartache, again and again, tomorrow. </p><p> </p><p>For now, though, he’ll just sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>last chance on my <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdzfucNpy-ipPc2VZqSzPkkXnEeJ1f5kDBOMKWuuFHqKE_XdQ/viewform?usp=sf_link">survey</a> lol i'll be closing it soon!</p><p>tumblr <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>! hope everyone is staying safe n healthy, and if you celebrate, that you have a happy halloween/blessed samhain 🥰</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. lathyrus odoratus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>for my U.S. folks: please stay safe today!! if you can still vote, and you haven't already, please do!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week passes. Taeyong is mostly bedridden now. Eunyong is constantly at his side. Doyoung visits occasionally. Ever since the red spider lilies, he’s only been coughing up sweet pea blooms. For departures, for goodbyes. Eunyong turns them over in her hands. He knows she knows they are his body’s way of bidding them all farewell.</p><p> </p><p>The first couple days after he told his parents were fine. He was still able to get up and make himself food, though he didn’t like moving around much. Now, though, it’s a chore to drag himself to the bathroom in the middle of the night to cough up more flowers. They come up with vomit every time; he’s lucky that with the later stages of the disease, the flowers only come once every few days. Otherwise, he’d starve to death before the flowers could get him. He has a sporadic fever, and it makes him tremble under his many blankets at night.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t make it to Jaemin’s birthday party. He figured it would be scarier for them to see him like this than to not see him at all. He texted Jaemin, apologizing, but didn’t say anything else. He knows he’ll have to tell all his friends soon. He knows they know something is up. But it’s not like they can break into his house or anything, so for now, they’re only left wondering.</p><p> </p><p>Doyoung’s visits are quiet. He’ll sit with him, bring him fresh water, comfort him when his dreams, strange and frightening from the fever, wake him suddenly. He’s not lucid most of the time, so there’s not much else they can do. One day that his head is clear, he apologizes to Doyoung.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Doyoung responds fiercely. “Stop saying sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m choosing to be here. I want to be here with you. I don’t care if we can’t do anything. I don’t care if I’m playing nurse a bit. It doesn’t matter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Taeyong murmurs, too tired to argue. “Have you heard from Johnny?”</p><p> </p><p>Doyoung just shakes his head. “I saw him at the party, and I told him it was because of your sickness that you couldn’t come. He didn’t say anything, just frowned and turned away.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s that, then,” Taeyong says.</p><p> </p><p>It’s almost karmic, the way this has turned out. He worried from the first day that he would lose Johnny along the way, and now he has. Not for the reason he thought, but still from the disease. He fell in love, and got sick because of it; that was his own fault. It was his own fault that he couldn’t speak up about it, because he was too scared. And now it’s his fault that Johnny is angry with him and won’t see him. <em> Another reason it’s all my fault, tucked inside a reason it’s all my fault, like a little Russian doll. </em></p><p> </p><p>His parents check in on him from time to time. He can tell they’re trying not to be stifling, because they know he wants rest, and he wants space. He knows they know it makes him uncomfortable for them to see him like this. But they can’t help it that their touches linger, that they always ask a third time if he needs anything before they go back downstairs. He can’t really blame them for it, either. They want to feel useful, even when there’s nothing to do. And they want as much time with him as possible, before they can never see him again.</p><p> </p><p>The guilt is still there, of course, almost more suffocating than the flowers. It’s not that he didn’t always kind of know this is how he would end up, it’s just that he had never really stopped to think how it would feel for everyone else. He never considered how gut-wrenching it would be for his friends and family to sit and literally watch him die. It makes the days drag by, but also makes them pass with uncanny speed. Every day, he watches the sky change out of his window for long hours. Every day, he gets worse. Every day, he gets closer to the inevitable.</p><p> </p><p>One night, he wakes up to the sound of crying. It’s pitch black, probably around 2 am. He sees the vague shape of Eunyong sitting with her back against his bed, knees drawn up so that she can rest her forehead on them. Her shoulders shake with her sobs. Taeyong reaches his arm out weakly, managing to brush the back of her head.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Noona, noona</em>, don’t cry,” he croaks.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh!” She raises her head quickly, wiping away tears as she turns to face him. “I’m—I’m okay. Do you need anything?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong shakes his head, reaching up to swipe a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb. “I’m fine,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to hide this from me, though. I know it hurts.”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong covers his hand with her own, sniffling. “It’s not that I don’t understand,” she says softly. “Of course I understand. And I don’t blame you. It just—I wanted more for you. My baby brother. I wanted to see you grow old in that flower shop you love so much. I wanted to be able to come home to you when I was tired of the city. I wanted to be at your wedding.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not my funeral, I know,” Taeyong says. “I wanted to be at your wedding, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“It just sucks,” she murmurs. “You don’t deserve this. I know you’re convincing yourself that you do, because that’s easier than admitting it’s not fair, and having to grieve a life you won’t ever get to live now, but you don’t deserve it. You’re sweet and gentle and kind. It’s like <em> Eomma </em> said. All you did was fall in love. I’m sorry he doesn’t love you back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think he’ll come?” Taeyong asks faintly.</p><p> </p><p>“He better,” Eunyong says. “Or I won’t let him into your funeral.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t do that,” Taeyong replies. He laughs a little at her anger, but it turns into coughing. More sweet pea flowers push their way up from his lungs. Eunyong gets a plastic bag under his chin just in time, so the blood doesn’t stain. When the fit subsides, she wipes his face clean.</p><p> </p><p>“See, this is what I mean. You’re too good for this,” she says. “You love him like this, even now.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think that means I’m perfect for it,” Taeyong replies. Eunyong glares at him. He can see her eyes flashing, even in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>“This disease, it preys on the best of us,” she tells him. “You only got it because you love too much. It’s not right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe one day you and Gyunghui can find a cure,” Taeyong suggests sleepily. He closes his eyes. “I believe that. You’re both so smart.”</p><p> </p><p>Eunyong strokes his hair. He isn’t looking at her, but he hears the despair in her voice. “Silly,” she says. “You’re the best witch in this family. If anyone were to find it, it would have been you.”</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>It’s the last solid memory Taeyong has. He’s too tired to speak, and he spends most of his time in a terrible place between wakefulness and sleep. His dreams plague him, visions of blood and talking roses, of the sun rising and setting and rising and setting at an alarming pace, blending in with the world around him until he can’t tell what’s real. His fever doesn’t lessen ever; he shakes so violently his bed rattles against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>If anyone visits him, he doesn’t know. People come in and out of his room, at a frequency that forces him to assume it’s not just his family and Doyoung. He guesses someone, probably Eunyong, told his friends, and now they’re coming to say goodbye. Maybe Johnny has been to see him, and he wasn’t awake, or just doesn’t remember. He has no way of knowing. He can barely understand what they’re saying when his parents or Eunyong come in to give him something to eat, or to drink. All he knows is the horrible shivering, the dreams, the pain in his chest that’s become almost unbearable, and the blood, so much blood. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks Eunyong comes to read to him, though he can’t be sure. Maybe it’s another dream. But one day he swears he hears something familiar. </p><p> </p><p><em> “Whomever I touch, I send back to the earth from whence they came…” </em> He only catches pieces. <em> “I can help you someday, if you grow too homesick for your own planet…” </em></p><p> </p><p>Taeyong wishes, in his delirium and hurt, for a snake like that to deliver him back to before all this happened. Or better yet, like the Little Prince, to his flowers, beneath the soil, still and cold and peaceful. No more blood. No more pain. No more terrifying visions. </p><p> </p><p>If he had known the last bits would have been spent in such agony, he would have really considered the surgery. Maybe he still would have decided not to get it, but it would have been a much more present option. He’d seen Yuta at his worst, but he’d never gotten this far. He just didn’t imagine it would be this violent. Now that he thinks about it, though, he doesn’t understand why he could have thought otherwise. He’s kind of glad, in a way. It would have been awful to spend all those weeks so afraid, if he knew this was what was waiting for him.</p><p> </p><p>It’s like he can feel the flowers taking his body apart. They’re such little blossoms in comparison to what he’s had before, but they’ve taken root. He feels their grip inside of him with every breath he takes. Each inhale is labor. His lungs feel taut and unhappy.</p><p> </p><p>One day, he wakes to what he thinks is a wave of blood washing over his bedroom floor. He panics, pressing himself to the wall as best he can with his dwindling strength. But then, he realizes it’s just the sunset, the colors reflecting off his mirror and painting his room. Still, his heart won’t stop pounding. He can’t tell if the tremor in his hands is from the chills brought on by his fever, or the fear. Maybe it’s both. He can’t be sure. </p><p> </p><p>The rest of that evening is excruciating. The more the shadows encroach on his room, the more anxious he gets. The logical voice in his head is so quiet now, drowned out by his panic. He knows it’s nothing, but he can’t convince himself of it. He feels like he may be going insane. Eventually, he resigns himself to curling up under the blankets in the fetal position, eyes squeezed shut so they can stop playing tricks on him. His mind still dutifully plays a movie of horror behind his eyelids, anyway; at least it is easier to convince himself that isn’t real.</p><p> </p><p>That night, he thinks Eunyong presses her face to his cheek. He thinks he hears her say, “You can let go now.” He thinks she says, “I know you’re trying to hold on for as long as you can. But I know it must hurt so much. And it’s okay if you’re afraid. I’m right here.” He thinks she picks up his hand. “I want you around forever,” he thinks she murmurs. “But I don’t want you to suffer anymore. And I’m sorry.” He thinks he feels tears, not his own, hot and wet on his jaw. He thinks he hears her whisper, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I want to. We did our best, right? We did everything we could.” He thinks he feels her sigh. “It’s alright. Rest now. I’ll stay until you’re sleeping.” He thinks she presses a kiss to his temple, her breath cool against his burning skin.</p><p> </p><p>But he can’t be sure.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! hit me up on my <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">tumblr!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. dendranthema x grandiflorum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>not me having to change the rating on this story because of this chapter SJSNFJ oops</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Taeyong.” He feels a hand on his shoulder. Taeyong blinks his eyes open, squinting. It’s Eunyong, and she’s wearing a serious expression. “It’s Johnny. Johnny’s here to see you. I can tell him to leave, if you—”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Taeyong cuts her off quickly. His voice squeaks from lack of use. “No, let him come up.”</p><p> </p><p>She moves away, and he hears her going back down the stairs. He hears voices, and he strains, trying as hard as he can to stay conscious, to focus. </p><p> </p><p>He recognizes the sound of Johnny’s footfalls up the stairs. He knows him by every little thing about him. Even now, he can tell it’s him before he comes into view. Eunyong hasn’t followed him up, but he has a feeling she’s eavesdropping at the foot of the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong,” Johnny murmurs, sitting down on the edge of the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Johnny,” Taeyong blurts out before he can continue.</p><p> </p><p>“No, <em> I’m </em> sorry. It was wrong of me to push you without expecting the same from me. It was wrong of me to do that to you without telling you why,” Johnny says. “I just—” He cuts himself off, and Taeyong realizes he’s crying. “I’ve been stupid, that’s all. Taeyong, my disease, it’s for <em> you</em>. That’s why I wanted you to get the stupid surgery so bad. I love you and I want you to live.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong wonders if he’s imagining it. Maybe he’s dreaming again. At least it’s a good dream, for once. He smiles faintly. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s still talking. “We’ll get it together, okay? We’ll get it together, and we’ll both be cured. I don’t want to lose my love for you, but I don’t think I care anymore—I mean, maybe it’ll be for the best, right? We can go back to being friends like—like before all this shit happened. I just don’t want to lose you, because I—”</p><p> </p><p>He starts coughing, and Taeyong watches as he produces white chrysanthemums, not quite whole, but enough that they’re easily identifiable, even clumped and wet. Taeyong’s brain is not working at full capacity, but it dawns on him slowly as Johnny is catching his breath, dusting his hands off in the trash can. The meaning of chrysanthemums can vary based on color, but white means only one thing—truth, honesty. </p><p> </p><p>This is real. Johnny <em> loves </em> him. Johnny loves <em> him</em>, not Ten, not some other boy. Johnny, his best friend. Taeyong finds himself laughing, and it’s the first time in weeks that he’s laughed that it doesn’t hurt. He knows once the flowers die in his lungs, he’ll cough them up, but the stems will be brown and rotten, and flowers wilted, roots small and useless. </p><p> </p><p>“Why are you—?” Johnny starts to ask, but Taeyong doesn’t give him the chance, pushes himself up and holds Johnny’s face between his hands and kisses him like he’s been imagining for months, clumsy and fierce and sweet. It only takes Johnny a split second to respond before he has his hands on Taeyong’s waist, kissing him back. He tastes like salt from his tears, and Taeyong is still laughing when they finally break away.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s me? You were going to die for <em> me? </em> ” Johnny asks, incredulous. “Oh my god, oh <em> fuck</em>, we’re both <em> idiots</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong laughs again, scooting forward to burying his face in Johnny’s chest. Johnny’s already gotten a little skinny—Taeyong can feel the bumps of his sternum against his forehead—but he knows things will be back to normal in no time. Well—not normal. Better than normal. In his relief, he might even dare to call it perfect.</p><p> </p><p>“Too bad those flowers didn’t get you.” It’s Eunyong, at the top of the stairs, half exuberant, half furious. “Oh, I could kill you both. How are you both this <em> stupid</em>? Were you trying for a modern-day Romeo and Juliet situation? I mean, come on! This has been so wildly overdramatic for all of us. Those two kids—Jeno and Jaemin, they figured themselves out way faster than you. I can’t fucking believe it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Eunyong, I missed you,” Taeyong says, sitting up and reaching out for her. “You were being so sweet these last few weeks. It was kinda scary. It’s nice to hear you yelling again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I regret it now,” she grumbles, but she hugs him all the same. “I’m going to tell Mom and Dad. You—you clean yourselves up, and get ready for a fucking apology tour.” She stands, stomping back down the stairs. As she disappears from view, Taeyong hears her mutter, “I cannot <em> wait </em> to see what Yuta and Mark have to say about this.”</p><p> </p><p>The front door is wrenched open and then slammed shut only a few moments later, and then the whole house is still. Taeyong’s hands have found Johnny’s in all the commotion, and he looks to him now, suddenly acutely aware of the sound of his breath.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny huffs out a laugh. “So Doyoung is probably going to kick my ass, right?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong giggles. “Maybe,” he says. “Mine too. It’s okay, though. There’s also a chance that he’ll just, like, cry <em> really </em> hard on us.”</p><p> </p><p>“That would be quite the scene,” Johnny muses, grinning at the thought. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Taeyong says.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Johnny echoes, taking a breath. “You love me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Taeyong doesn’t know why he feels shy. “I love you. A lot.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, good,” Johnny says. “I love you a lot too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come here, you giant dumbass,” Taeyong says, opening his arms. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny lunges into them, and they both collapse back onto the mattress, a tangle of emaciated limbs. Johnny presses his nose into Taeyong’s neck, one arm around his shoulders, the other hand cradling the back of Taeyong’s head. Taeyong links his hands behind Johnny’s rib cage and squeezes tight. His weight on top of him is a little suffocating, but it’s nothing in comparison to the past months. Taeyong thinks he wants to stay like this forever. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t even know where to begin,” Johnny says, muffled.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Taeyong agrees. “Like, I kind of want to go on a run? I don’t even like runs. I hate exercising. But I want to like, sprint into the woods or something. Or all the way to the beach. I also want to stay here with you for like a week. I <em> also </em> want to go back to work.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs. “I’m going to venture to say that the run is probably not the best idea. You still need to get the dead flowers up, and you’re quite weak. I’ll take you on a run once we’ve both recovered a little, I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, I won’t hold you to that,” Taeyong hums happily. “I think the impulse will pass.”</p><p> </p><p>“Noooo,” Johnny says, wiggling on top of him like a child threatening to throw a tantrum. “No, come on a run with me. Come on multiple runs with me. It’ll be fun.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no thank you,” Taeyong replies delicately.</p><p> </p><p>They’re quiet for a moment. “I’m so happy you’re not gonna die,” Johnny whispers, punctuating it with a kiss over Taeyong’s pulse point before he draws back, pushing himself off Taeyong.</p><p> </p><p>“You, too.” Taeyong stretches, grinning. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s get cleaned up, like Eunyong said. You’re still covered in your death-fever sweat,” Johnny says. “And now I am too. C’mon.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong lets Johnny drag him out of bed and into his bathroom. There’s a moment of hesitation as he tugs off his shirt—because it’s different now, right? But he looks over at Johnny, and shakes it off. That’s his best friend. They’ve seen each other naked countless times, showered together again and again, ever since they were little. One more time won’t make a difference.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny blows white, foamy shampoo in Taeyong’s face, and he laughs, batting it away. <em> This is my life now</em>, Taeyong realizes. This will be every day. The sudden, full warmth of his future almost overwhelms him. He and Johnny will share many coffees, spend countless hours at the beach together, come home and cook hundreds of dinners. They’ll work right across the street from each other, and go to Kun’s coffeeshop for lunch. It’s a lot at once, so Taeyong narrows his focus to this evening. He wants lemonade and open-faced toast, and Johnny.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Johnny asks softly.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong smiles, reaching up to rinse off a spot of shampoo that he missed in his hair. “Food,” he answers honestly. “Think we can stop by the market for some brie? And figs?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” Johnny says, laughing. “Though I have a feeling our parents are already preparing a feast for us. We’re going to be <em> so </em>healthy when they’re through with us.”</p><p> </p><p>“What a foreign concept,” Taeyong says, and Johnny smacks him with his towel.</p><p> </p><p>= = = </p><p> </p><p>Johnny had to have a bit of a talk with his parents, so Taeyong had gone home to help his parents prepare some food while they waited. He indulges his mother in her many kisses, his father’s awkward small talk, his sister’s huffy relief. He and Johnny had decided to wait until the next morning to tell their friends. It feels a bit cruel, but they want to ensure that tonight is for family only. </p><p> </p><p>When the Seos arrive, Taeyong can tell they’ve all been crying. Mrs. Seo wraps him up in a hug as soon as she lays eyes on him and doesn’t let go for quite some time. Taeyong doesn’t really know what to say. After all, it was kind of his fault that Johnny nearly died.</p><p> </p><p>But when she pulls away, her eyes are shining. “Of course, this has been so scary,” she says. “But mostly, I’m just happy. I couldn’t ask for someone better for my Johnny.” </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong thinks he might cry, so he excuses himself quickly to go help set the table.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s there too, chatting politely with Taeyong’s dad, and he gives Taeyong a grin when he comes up beside him. Taeyong hands Johnny various tableware, letting him make use of his long arms so they don’t have to shuffle around the table. </p><p> </p><p>They sit right across from each other at dinner, in between their parents (with Eunyong at the head of the table, where she rightfully belongs). Johnny keeps sneaking him smiles and Taeyong feels like he can’t contain his happiness.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s room still smells of blood and sickness, so he opens the windows and packs a bag to stay the night at Johnny’s loft. They walk into town, since Johnny’s parents are going home, hand in hand. The sun has set, though the horizon still glows a pretty pink. Taeyong looks up at Johnny, watching him instead of where they’re going. His face is no longer clouded. He skips into his next step so he can hop up to give him a kiss on the cheek.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs, reaching around and grabbing Taeyong by the waist, lifting him up so that they’re nose to nose, so he can give him a proper kiss on the lips. Taeyong giggles as he sets him back down. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you want to do tonight?” Johnny asks, as if it’s a completely ordinary evening.</p><p> </p><p><em> You</em>, Taeyong thinks, almost laughing out loud at himself. <em> Slow down</em>. “We could watch a movie. I never saw the end of Totoro that night after you came home. I fell asleep, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” Johnny agrees.</p><p> </p><p>The main street is dark and quiet when they turn onto it. Taeyong sees the closed market and realizes they never got his figs and brie. <em> Tomorrow, then, for breakfast</em>, he decides as he follows Johnny around the back of the bakery.</p><p> </p><p>They both have to pause for breath at the top of the stairs, standing in the threshold of Johnny’s dark room. Johnny’s wheezes turn to coughs, and though Taeyong knows it’s just the dead remains of his flowers coming up, it still sparks fear. He drags a trash can over, flicking on the light. Sure enough, the chrysanthemums are brown and wilted, stems barely even formed, with a few stringy, pitiful roots connected. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny sighs, picking a stray petal off his tongue. “I hope that’s the last of it,” he says. “It’s a uniquely uncomfortable feeling.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to tell me,” Taeyong says fervently. He peers into the trash can. It looks like how Yuta’s did, once Mark had confessed, but he’s nervous, still.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny seems to know what he’s thinking. “Yours can’t be far behind,” he says. “Once you get them up, we’ll go to the doctor’s for a scan. Just in case. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Taeyong agrees, replacing the trashcan by Johnny’s bed, and setting up the movie while Johnny goes to brush his teeth. He settles on the couch, and when Johnny comes to join him, it feels natural to curl into his side. They’ve always been very physical, but it feels different now. Taeyong rests his head on Johnny’s chest and is comforted by his strong, steady heartbeat. Johnny threads his fingers through Taeyong’s hair, combing it through gently. Taeyong grabs Johnny’s free hand and plays with his fingers as they watch the movie.</p><p> </p><p>Normally, movies put Taeyong right to sleep, but he’s still wide awake by the time the credits are rolling. He hums the Totoro theme absently as he sits, letting Johnny shake feeling back into his arms. Taeyong stands, and finally, the coughing fit comes. There’s way more flowers for him to clear, but when they come out, he can tell they are not the same blooms he was vomiting up the night before. They fall apart at the slightest touch, and there’s clumps of roots. Most importantly, there’s no blood, save for a few dried, browned clots leftover from before.</p><p> </p><p>It’s still a horrible feeling, and Johnny wraps him up in his arms as soon as he’s done, situating him on his lap and holding him close, rocking him until his breathing slows. “It’s over now,” he murmurs softly, big hands running up and down Taeyong’s back. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’ll never have to worry about it ever again. I don’t intend to stop loving you.”</p><p> </p><p>It feels like an exaggeration at first, given they only admitted their feelings to each other that very morning, but, Taeyong realizes, they’ve been in love with each other their whole lives. It’s not such a grand leap. They’ve suffered so much for one another. They’re allowed to idealize a little bit, now. Besides, he doesn’t see how he could ever let Johnny go. So, he just holds Johnny tighter, pressing little kisses along his collarbone over his shirt. Johnny hums, and Taeyong looks up at him. His eyes are dark, and suddenly Taeyong just wants and wants and wants.</p><p> </p><p>“Go brush your teeth,” Johnny says with a low laugh. “And then we’ll see about <em> that.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Taeyong swears he’s never moved faster in his life, scrambling off Johnny’s lap and grabbing his toiletries from his bag. He’s back to Johnny’s bed in minutes, and Johnny is already naked under the covers, the lights turned off, just a single candle burning on his table by the window. Johnny looks beautiful in the dim light. It’s all he can think as Johnny pulls his t-shirt off over his head, as he mouths hotly over his stomach. But then again, Johnny’s always been beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>Later, sated, tired, and warm; Johnny’s arm slung across his waist, holding him close, Taeyong stifles laughter as he thinks about their day. He woke up on death’s door, and here he is, healthy, with clear lungs, spent and aching but so happy, falling asleep in the arms of the boy he loves.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it?” Johnny murmurs. He’s behind him, so Taeyong can’t see his face, but he can hear his smile.</p><p> </p><p>“If you told me 24 hours ago that this is how today would end, I would have thought I was hallucinating,” Taeyong says. </p><p> </p><p>“Mm,” Johnny hums in agreement. “But here we are.”</p><p> </p><p>“Here we are.” Taeyong twists around so he can kiss him one more time. “Love you,” he murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>“Love you,” Johnny replies easily. It’s the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i..... can't believe this story is almost complete? I started writing this in July!! JULY!!!!!! what the fuck. why is it november already.</p><p><a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">Tumblr!</a> come scream to me about resonance pt 2!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. sequoia sempervirens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taeyong wakes up with his nose pressed to Johnny’s chest—he must have turned over sometime in the night. He tightens his fist, scrunching up the fabric of Johnny’s t-shirt in his palm. It’s still real. </p><p> </p><p>He realizes he’s <em> starving</em>, for the first time in weeks. They had a big dinner the night before, but obviously he was still feeling a little unwell, so he hadn’t eaten much. Now, though, he wants every breakfast food under the sun. </p><p> </p><p>He realizes that he hasn’t updated Doyoung yet, so as gently as he can, so as not to disturb Johnny, he rolls over and grabs his phone from where it’s charging on the nightstand, and then slips out of bed and into the hall, shutting the door quietly behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Doyoung picks up on the first ring.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong?” he asks. He sounds groggy and confused.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Taeyong says softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but last night was… well, it was a lot. Um, so we’ll have to get everyone together as soon as possible, but—”</p><p> </p><p>“How are you even, like, speaking, right now?” Doyoung interrupts. “Last I saw you, you had one foot in the fucking grave.”</p><p> </p><p>“Would you let me finish?” Taeyong says, laughing. “Listen, okay? Johnny—Johnny had hanahaki too. For <em> me</em>. He came over and confessed yesterday, to try one more time to convince me that we should get the surgery together. I almost didn’t believe him, but he was coughing up white chrysanthemums, so…”</p><p> </p><p>Doyoung is completely silent. </p><p> </p><p>“Um, hello?” Taeyong tries tentatively. “You still there?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I am,” Doyoung says. “I—you two have got to be the densest motherfuckers on the planet.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, yeah, we deserve that,” Taeyong mutters.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’ll—I’ll get everyone together,” Doyoung says. He sounds a little tired, but Taeyong also hears relief. “How’s tonight? I’m going to see if Yuta will loan us his barn for the evening.”</p><p> </p><p>Yuta had been given the barn that was on his family’s property after he graduated college to be his own space until he was ready to actually get a place of his own. The building was mostly used for storage, but the loft area had become Yuta’s little apartment—they’d even outfitted it with a full bathroom. It had been home to many a gathering since he moved in.</p><p> </p><p>“That would be great, thank you,” Taeyong says warmly. “And, Doyoung, really, thank you for everything you’ve done for me, all that you’ve put up with over the last few months. I’m sorry it mostly fell on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I meant it when I said I didn’t mind,” Doyoung replies. “I’m just glad you—and Johnny—are okay now.”</p><p> </p><p>“I owe you,” Taeyong insists. “Anytime you need anything, seriously—”</p><p> </p><p>“You’d be there for me anyway, because that’s how you are,” Doyoung says. Taeyong can imagine him rolling his eyes. “Get back to your husband, I’m sure he’s wondering where you went. I’ll text you about tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Taeyong says, feeling sheepish.</p><p> </p><p>They hang up and Taeyong heads back into Johnny’s room to find him stirring, arms stretched over his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” he says when he sees Taeyong. Taeyong laughs and climbs on top of him, trapping him on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” he replies. “I just called Doyoung. He’s gonna get everyone together tonight so we can tell them what’s going on.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, good,” Johnny says. “The sooner everyone stops worrying, the better.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees. “We should call the doctor’s office to see if they can get us in for a scan today.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we should,” Johnny says. Taeyong’s stomach chooses this moment to let out a long, loud growl and Johnny laughs. “But breakfast first, hm? Let’s get the brie and figs you were talking about yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ooh, please.” Taeyong rolls off of Johnny so they can both stand, hopping around the edge of the bed to give Johnny a kiss.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny holds him there in front of him, looking at him with such aching fondness that Taeyong blushes and stares down at his toes. “Can’t believe you’re real,” Johnny says after a moment. “Okay, sorry,” he adds, laughing, bending down to kiss the top of Taeyong’s head before releasing him. “Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>The bakery is closed for the day—same with the flower shop, to give their families a rest—so they exit out the front of the darkened store. The street is quiet—it’s in between the early morning bustle and the lunch rush. Johnny takes his hand and squeezes. The image of them ten, twenty years in the future, walking down this same road, arm in arm, pops into Taeyong’s head, and he basks in it. Maybe it’s fall; maybe Taeyong is carrying a basket. Maybe Johnny has that long coat on that makes him look twelve feet tall. Maybe they’re surrounded by their friends, or maybe they’re alone. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that they’ll be together, healthy and happy, lungs clear.</p><p> </p><p>There are a few other people milling around the market. Taeyong follows Johnny to a farm stall. Luckily, it seems Jaehyun and his family haven’t set up a stall today, so they don’t have to have that awkward conversation in public. Taeyong picks out a wheel of brie while Johnny examines the figs. </p><p> </p><p>The farmer bags their food and then they’re headed back to the bakery. They clear off one of the counters in the kitchen, and Johnny pulls out bread leftover from the day before as Taeyong slices up the brie and figs. He and Johnny arrange it all on the bread, topping it off with some honey, and then slide the platter into the oven on low to melt. Johnny boils water for coffee, and Taeyong washes the dishes. It’s just like it’s always been, and at the same time it’s nothing like how things used to be.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, guess what,” Johnny says when Taeyong turns around. He pushes a mug of coffee towards him across the counter with the cream.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Taeyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Johnny says, and Taeyong laughs. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you, too, dummy.”</p><p> </p><p>After breakfast, Taeyong helps clean up the kitchen while Johnny calls the doctor’s. Taeyong’s just finishing up when Johnny gets off the phone. </p><p> </p><p>“They can get us in this afternoon,” Johnny says, pocketing his cell. “We have a few hours to kill.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong smiles, reaching up to link his hands behind Johnny’s neck and pulling him closer. “Whatever shall we do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I think we can come up with something,” Johnny says, laughing bright and clear, and Taeyong laughs with him.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>The good news is all they need is a CT scan. They’re fast, easy, and they can get their results almost immediately. They’re scanned separately, and now they’re in the waiting room, Taeyong clutching Johnny’s hands, one leg bouncing nervously.</p><p> </p><p>“Seo?” Both of their heads shoot up; a nurse is standing in the doorway. “Your results are in. Please, come with me.”</p><p> </p><p>They follow her back into one of the rooms, and she smiles kindly as she pulls out the prints. “This is yours,” she says to Johnny, sliding it across the examination table to him. “All clear. And yours—” She turns to Taeyong. “Your case was a lot more serious, wasn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Taeyong says shakily.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry,” she says. “There’s no roots left; you’re fine. There’s just a few leftover petals and leaves—barely any, look—but I just want to let you know if you find yourself coughing up some decomposed material, it’s not because you’re still sick. Your body just has a lot of recovering to do, okay?” Taeyong nods. “Okay, you guys are all set. You can take this with, if you like. And if you need anything else, go ahead and call.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Johnny says, scooping up the scans. “We will.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong cries once they’re in the car, and Johnny reaches over the console to hold him, stroking his hair and wiping his tears away. Johnny’s shaking, too, and they sit there in the parking lot for a long time, just catching their breath.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re okay,” Johnny murmurs. “We’ll be okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong presses his face into Johnny’s chest. “I’m just not used to it yet,” he admits, muffled by Johnny’s shirt, and Johnny huffs out a breath of laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure some of our friends are going to kill us, so maybe that’s a good thing,” he points out.</p><p> </p><p>“We kinda deserve it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we kinda do.”</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>They arrive at Yuta’s early by design; Doyoung is already there, helping Yuta set up, and Mark is lounging in the corner, working on a playlist. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Johnny calls weakly.</p><p> </p><p>“You—!” Yuta whirls around, dropping what he’s doing and crossing the room to them. “I’ll wring your necks! I have two hands! What the fuck is wrong with you two? I made my mistakes so you wouldn’t have to! Clearly my suffering was for nothing!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” Mark pipes up from across the room. “I’m nothing?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not talking to you,” Yuta shoots back over his shoulder. “Taeyong, seriously. What were you thinking?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, something along the lines of, ‘I’m unloveable and this is a sure death sentence’?” Taeyong supplies, and Yuta reaches out and puts him in a loose headlock.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope you know if Taeyong died, I would’ve never forgiven you.” Doyoung has also strolled up to them, and he’s speaking to Johnny, who just kind of nods. “You were acting like such a fuckwad until, like, yesterday. If you turned up at his funeral, we would have had a fistfight.”</p><p> </p><p>“I believe you,” Johnny says, putting his hands up. “And you’re right, I was being a blockheaded dick. In my defense, I was scared.”</p><p> </p><p>“Either of you pull anything like that again—” Doyoung shakes his head. Yuta jostles Taeyong a little and finally lets him go.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, enough threats of violence.” Mark stands up, putting his phone down and coming over to join their little huddle. “The normal reaction to this would be, like, ‘God, I’m so glad you guys didn’t die!’ and then you just leave it at that.” He rolls his eyes, opening his arms to give first Johnny, and then Taeyong a quick hug. “What matters is you’re fine now. I think we can all assume they learned from this experience, and I think all the stress they went through is punishment enough.”</p><p> </p><p>“Since when did you become the voice of reason?” Doyoung asks, pinching Mark’s arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Kun isn’t here yet; someone had to step up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Doyoung says, rolling his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, so,” Yuta says, in a completely different tone of voice, anger already forgotten. “Is this like, ‘we’re alive!!’ Or is it like, ‘hey, we’re alive…’?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Taeyong asks while Johnny laughs. </p><p> </p><p>“Lighthearted event, very lighthearted,” Johnny answers quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Their friends start filtering in, and it gets very loud, very quickly. Johnny stands on a chair and tugs Taeyong up to stand on the one next to him. He grabs an empty Moscow mule mug and clangs it against the glass of the half-empty vodka bottle in his other hand. “Hi, can we have everyone’s attention please?” The room quiets a little; there’s shuffling as their friends turn to face them. “Hi. As I’m sure you’ve all gathered by now, Taeyong is not dying.” There’s a bit of whooping that goes up from Kunhang, Mark, and Donghyuck, and Taeyong giggles to himself. “Yeah, yay. So you know he had hanahaki disease. What you don’t know is that it was for me. And I also had hanahaki, for him.”</p><p> </p><p>The room is completely silent.</p><p> </p><p>“Um, obviously, we figured it out,” Taeyong pipes up. “And I may not look much better, but I really am. We got our scans earlier today, and we’re all clear. So… I just want to say, uh, sorry for making everybody worry so much. I’m really sorry for not telling you guys sooner. But we’re okay now. So we wanted to get everyone together just to—to fill you in, and celebrate me not needing a funeral quite yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not funny,” Doyoung calls, though soft laughter is coming from all around him. </p><p> </p><p>“How did it happen?” Jaemin asks. “Like, how did you figure it out?”</p><p> </p><p>“I bet it was super dramatic,” Sicheng says with a good-natured eye-roll.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we got into a fight a week or so ago,” Johnny says, sounding sheepish. “My fault, really—I was being really unfair. We didn’t talk, and Taeyong was getting really bad. Doyoung kept telling me to go see him, but—I felt so guilty, I don’t know. Anyway, I did go see him, yesterday—Eunyong almost didn’t let me in the door, which is fair.”</p><p> </p><p>“He confessed to me tearfully,” Taeyong says with a little grin. “And I didn’t even believe him at first, because I thought I was having another weird fever dream. But I realized he was coughing up white chrysanthemums, so…”</p><p> </p><p>There’s murmuring, and Taeyong hears Yuta say, “Truth, honesty.”</p><p> </p><p>“So that was that.” Taeyong shrugs. “And I can’t believe we were both so stupid. I know you’re not happy with us, but believe me, we’re <em> also </em> not happy with us, so at least you’re not alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, that’s all.” Johnny pours some of the vodka into his mug. “Personally, I’d like to put the whole thing behind me. So let’s have fun, okay? Mark, music please.”</p><p> </p><p>Immediate conversation picks up as Mark presses play on his phone, and Johnny jumps down from the chair and helps Taeyong back to solid ground. He barely has time to give Taeyong a quick kiss on the forehead before he’s being tackled by Yukhei and Jaehyun, Doyoung not far behind. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong himself is immediately surrounded by the youngest of their group; they corner him—Jaemin and Jeno, Donghyuck, Renjun, Chenle, and Jisung, crowded around, half-hugging him, half beating him up. </p><p> </p><p>“How dare you,” Jisung mumbles into Taeyong’s hair, lanky arms squeezed tight around his shoulders. “How dare you think you could leave us without our permission.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>He finally extracts himself from the tangle of limbs, and finds Yukhei watching him from across the room. They meet in the middle, and Yukhei clinks his Solo cup against Taeyong’s. “I’m happy you’re still with us,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong says, suddenly feeling very awkward. “Are you—are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Yukhei’s eyes are far away. “Yeah, I’m okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not fair,” Taeyong says softly. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” Yukhei agrees, “but it could be worse.” He offers Taeyong a crooked smile, a ghost of his usual wide, goofy grin. “But I don’t think most things are really fair for anybody. We make do, right? In the end, I have all of you, regardless. It’s all I really need.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong looks around the room, nodding slowly. Yuta has trapped Mark in his lap; Mark is laughing and punching him for show. Kunhang and Donghyuck are waltzing to whatever Justin Bieber song Mark has on repeat this week; Jaehyun, Johnny, Kun, and Sicheng are in a heated Pictionary match. The kids are chanting for Jeno to chug whatever he has in his cup. The air is thick and heavy and warm, not just from the late-summer mugginess, or even from the combined heat of so many bodies in such a small space; it’s the way their lives are filled when they’re all together.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong repeats softly, drawing in a long, unlabored breath. “Yeah, you’re right.”</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Taeyong wakes early in his own bed, and creeps downstairs to start breakfast. The sun is just rising, and the kitchen is still washed in shadow, dark and cool. Birds chirp along with the humming of the bugs outside. The sky is clear and bright blue; the sunlight is blinding, even so early in the morning. Taeyong can barely bear to glance outside for longer than a few seconds. It’s going to be a beautiful day.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, there’s porridge bubbling on the stove, and coffee dripping through a filter, and Eunyong is wandering into the kitchen, lured down from her room by the smell of food. She smiles silently at Taeyong and gets a mug for herself. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asks when she’s been watching him for too long.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re looking better already,” she says softly. “Being loved looks good on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Taeyong mumbles, blushing and hiding behind the lid of the pot as he checks on the porridge. </p><p> </p><p>Their parents join them shortly, and they all sit around the table, coffee steaming, passing around toppings, chatting quietly. The sunlight falls across the kitchen floor; there are no empty chairs. </p><p> </p><p>“You know,” their mother says. “We always kind of wondered if you and Johnny would end up together. Mrs. Seo and I would talk about it sometimes.” Taeyong meets her eyes, crinkled with happiness over the rim of her mug. “I guess we were right.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry I made you worry so much,” Taeyong says softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, all’s well that ends well, right?” Mr. Lee says, tilting his head with a smile. Taeyong nods, but there’s a faint anxiety in the back of his head still. Just because <em> he’s </em> cured doesn’t mean it ends well for everyone, right? He thinks about what Eunyong said a few nights ago. <em> If anyone were to find a cure, it would have been you</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He’s shaken out of his thoughts by Eunyong’s mug hitting the table. “Speaking of endings, I have an announcement.” She rests her chin on her hands. “I’m going back to the city in a couple days. I’ve been away too long. Now that things are settled here, I have to get back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” their mother says, reaching across the table and taking one of Eunyong’s wrists in her hand. She runs her thumb over her knuckles. “Come back soon, though, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll try.”</p><p> </p><p>“You better,” Taeyong says, nudging her. “Who’ll keep me out of trouble, with you gone?”</p><p> </p><p>“I would say Johnny, but clearly that’s faith that’s been misplaced.”</p><p> </p><p>Their laughter floats out the open window into the sunny yard.</p><p> </p><p>That afternoon, Taeyong meets Johnny at Donghyuck’s parents’ ice cream parlor. Johnny is already there, and on the table in front of him is a dozen red roses. Taeyong gives him a look. “You, a hanahaki survivor, are giving <em> me</em>, another hanahaki survivor, and a <em> literal flower shop owner</em>, a bouquet of roses.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Johnny says, reaching down for his bag. “I figured they’d pair well with these.”</p><p> </p><p>He produces a bouquet of a dozen little rose-shaped buns, stuck on green metal stems. Taeyong throws his head back and laughs, one hand cupping Johnny’s jaw. “You’re ridiculous. These are so cute.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m making a bunch of different flowers,” Johnny says. “Like I said I would. I’ll tell all my customers where to buy the real thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, how romantic. No one will ever know the underlying tragedy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm,” Johnny hums, a pleased smile on his face. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sighs, taking his seat across from him. “I can’t believe summer’s already almost over,” he says. “Eunyong’s flying back to the city in a few days. All the kids are going back to school.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny dramatically pretends to wipe tears from his eyes. “All the ones who just graduated, off to college! It’s going to be so quiet around here with that group gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m okay with quiet,” Taeyong says, laughing. “I’ve had quite enough excitement for a while.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you’ll find your way into some new adventure soon enough,” Johnny says.</p><p> </p><p>“You say that like you won’t be right there with me,” Taeyong says, rolling his eyes. “Like you always have.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny leans across the table and covers Taeyong’s hand with his own. His eyes are warm and loving; Taeyong feels a piercing tenderness coarse through him when he meets his gaze. “Yeah,” Johnny says. “Like I always have.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope everybody is staying safe n healthy ^^</p><p><a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">tumblr</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. tsuga chinensis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taeyong spins his wedding band around on his finger, absent, as he waits for the water to boil. Gyunghui is coming to visit later today, so his parents are minding the shop. Taeyong would’ve slept in, but his brain woke him early, as it seems to like to do these days, so here he is, making coffee at 6:18am in the weak morning light.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is still asleep in their bed upstairs; they moved in together shortly before Johnny proposed last winter, just about a year ago. They had their wedding in the late spring, early summer, right around three years after Johnny had first come home from that year he spent abroad.</p><p> </p><p>Some of their friends had moved away—Sicheng had eventually taken off overseas to pursue acting; he still writes frequently, and promises once he has the time and the money, he’ll visit whenever his schedule allows. Kunhang, Yukhei and Mark all graduated this past spring, just a few short days before the wedding. Yuta and Mark had moved in together, and Taeyong is honestly surprised they haven’t gotten engaged yet. Jeno and Jaemin are still dating, and Donghyuck had found a boyfriend at his college. Jaehyun is dating a girl from the next town over—tall, athletic, and pretty. They are all settling into adulthood, and things are peaceful.</p><p> </p><p>There hasn’t been a hanahaki case in their circle of friends since Taeyong and Johnny. There’s been a few within their little town, but no one they knew well. In any case, there haven’t been any deaths. Still, once the horror had faded, and once Taeyong had settled into his new life, he couldn’t shake the thought of a cure. It’s been busy, with buying a house, and the wedding, and everything, but now, he actually wants to try.</p><p> </p><p>So, Gyunghui is coming over for a visit, and Taeyong’s brain is constantly tripping over itself thinking of possibilities, waking him up at odd hours with ideas or just nervous energy.</p><p> </p><p>Well, ideas, nervous energy, and nightmares. Taeyong doesn’t really know what’s triggered it—maybe he’s just been thinking too much—but he keeps dreaming that somehow, he has it again. Or he dreams that the past three years have been a dream, and he’s back in his stifling loft bedroom, Eunyong tearfully pressing a fresh towel to his forehead. </p><p> </p><p>He hasn’t shared this with Johnny, though he knows he probably should. He just doesn’t want the same thing to start happening to him—one breakdown is fine; two under the same roof is a bit extreme. Johnny knows that he’s hell-bent on finding a cure, and whenever he asks, Taeyong says that he just doesn’t want anyone else to deal with what they had to deal with, and throws in something about how if they have kids one day, he doesn’t want to worry that it’ll be a problem for them.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sips at his coffee, swirling the foam around in his mouth as he contemplates breakfast. Normally, Johnny’s in charge of cooking, but Taeyong’s already up, so he pulls out some bacon and eggs and sets to work on the stove.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny comes down the stairs around seven; his parents are opening today, so he could afford to sleep in a little bit. He makes a happy noise when he sees the food Taeyong’s set aside for him.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you up so early?” Johnny asks, settling next to Taeyong at their little breakfast bar. “This looks really good, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. And, um, I don’t know, I just couldn’t go back to sleep,” Taeyong says, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>“I was gonna say, I thought Gyunghui wasn’t going to be here until, like, lunch.” Johnny accepts the mug of coffee that Taeyong slides over to him. “I wish I could stick around to say hi.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong smiles. “I’ll send her your regards,” he says, doing a little dramatic hand movement, making Johnny laugh. “She’ll probably be gone before you’re home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, probably.”</p><p> </p><p>“Anything in particular you want for dinner?” Taeyong asks, taking Johnny’s now-clear plate and running it under some water in the sink.</p><p> </p><p>“Something with pasta? Cream-base sauce, if you would.” Johnny stands and crosses the kitchen to Taeyong to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Gotta run, I’m sure my parents are swamped.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have a good day,” Taeyong says, watching fondly as he digs around the cabinet by the door for his wallet and his keys. “Tell your parents hey.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny salutes wordlessly, his keys jingling in his hand as he slips on his shoes and steps out the door.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong cleans up the house a little, starting a load of laundry and then heading to the market to pick up some meat. Jaehyun has opened a stall today; he’s hired a couple of local kids as farm hands so he can afford to come into town more often. Taeyong stops by even though he doesn’t need anything from him.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning,” Jaehyun greets him with his characteristic dimpled smile. “How are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“A bit tired, but I’m okay,” Taeyong replies. “How’s the farm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shotaro and Sungchan are managing it well,” he says, grinning. “I’m glad they’re still able to come back from school on the weekends to help out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t more of our kids do that?” Taeyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Good question.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “Something about the full college experience? So, bullshit.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong laughs, and they chat a little more before he heads on his way. He picks up some steak and herbs and heads home to get it marinating before Gyunghui arrives.</p><p> </p><p>He’s just finished cooking some lunch—just some soup and bread with warm apple cider—when the doorbell rings.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong,” she says warmly when he opens the door. “It’s so good to see you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You, too,” he says, inviting her in and letting her engulf him in a hug when the door is shut. “I made some lunch, if you’re interested.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re too sweet,” she says. “Please, that sounds lovely.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sets the table and they sit down to eat, catching up a little. Gyunghui says her small yield of pumpkins and other crops were successful this year, and Taeyong tells her about business at the shop and the bakery.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a lull in the conversation, and then Gyunghui gives him a sort of knowing look, and says, “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, not really,” Taeyong admits with a laugh. “I just keep dreaming that I have it again. I don’t know why—why now, after all this time. But it won’t leave me alone, so…”</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui nods. “You want to try to find a cure.”</p><p> </p><p>“Or, if not a cure, at least something to help?” Taeyong sighs. “I don’t know if it’s possible to unroot the flowers completely without all the adverse side effects. But… I don’t know. But would it be possible to wilt them, sort of—keep them weak, so that they can’t kill the host? It would at least buy them some time to think about it, or get over it. Hanahaki is a fast killer; if victims had more time, maybe they could get over the love. No one’s lived long enough for us to find out.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think my grandmother had the same hypothesis.” Gyunghui pulls a notebook out from her bag. “It didn’t work with you, because no matter how we tried to cut your ties, the longing you felt wouldn’t go away. This sort of ritual would be more helpful for someone who was in earlier stages of the disease, I think, but you came to me rather late.”</p><p> </p><p>“You think it’s possible, though?”</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui nods. “I’d given up trying to figure it out, but I think with you… maybe we could do something.” She points to a page in the notebook; there’s water damage over a large portion of it. “She had an ingredient list here for some kind of elixir or potion—I think it’s to weaken the flowers. It doesn’t mean they won’t come back; in fact, from what I can gather, it’s designed to ensure they <em> do </em>come back. That way, the treatment remains effective, because the flowers never feel threatened enough to adapt against it, but it also never allows the flowers to grow to full strength and kill the host. And yes, you’re right—the thought is, over time, the love the victim has will fade on its own, and treatment will no longer be necessary.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did she have any successful cases documented?” Taeyong asks, leaning over to scan the pages.</p><p> </p><p>“A couple, from what I can tell,” Gyunghui says. “Some just ended up choosing the surgery; others found out their love loved them back. There was only ever one death, but that was early on. I just wish…” She runs the pad of her thumb over the splotch. “My grandma died in a flood. I’m lucky this notebook survived at all. A lot of her work was lost then. It’s such a shame; if only the flood came later, she would’ve had the chance to share her remedy with others, and then maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure she’d be proud to know you’re continuing her work,” Taeyong says, and Gyunghui smiles faintly, nodding. “Let’s just do our best. I think we can start with listing herbs that might be useful? The first one that comes to mind for me is lavender.”</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui pulls out her own grimoire, and starts making a list on a fresh page. “Yes, lavender would be good,” she says, “for its cleansing properties. I was thinking goldenrod as well. And dandelion leaf.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about parsley?” Taeyong suggests. Gyunghui makes a noise of recognition, and writes it down as well. “Looks like we might be here awhile. Can I interest you in some tea?”</p><p> </p><p>“That would be wonderful,” Gyunghui accepts with a smile, and Taeyong goes to heat the water.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui stays later than they originally intended, and it’s already getting dark when she finally insists she has to head home.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll be okay getting back by yourself?” Taeyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m the most powerful witch in this town,” she says with a little grin. “I’ll be just fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sighs, trying to brush thoughts of hanahaki from his mind and lose himself in his cooking. He doesn’t really succeed, but at least dinner is made—a salad, and steak and fettuccine alfredo, which sounds odd but Taeyong has found is actually really nice—and Johnny’s unlocking the front door.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong finishes plating their dinner, and turns to see Johnny, multiple loaves of bread in hand, kicking off his shoes.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, baby,” he says when he realizes Taeyong’s eyes are on him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Taeyong says, a little breathlessly. He didn’t realize how long a day it was until right now, but now all he wants to do is curl into his husband’s (<em>husband! He has one of those! What the fuck!) </em>side until he falls asleep.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny sets the bread down on the counter and engulfs Taeyong in a warm hug. “How was your visit with Gyunghui?”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Taeyong says. “Productive. How was the bakery?”</p><p> </p><p>“Busy,” Johnny replies proudly. “Did you make all this?” He notices the spread on the table. “You aren’t even the one with culinary school training.”</p><p> </p><p>“Guess I learned from the best.” Taeyong tugs him to the table. “C’mon, sit.”</p><p> </p><p>They laugh and chat through dinner; Johnny tells him about the tourists who absolutely lost their minds over his “flour bouquets” and bought, like, seven; Taeyong says he and Gyunghui might actually be getting somewhere with this cure. When they’re done eating, they do the dishes side by side. Johnny asks if Taeyong wants to watch something, but Taeyong shakes his head. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m kind of tired,” he says softly. “And I just—I just want to lie with you for a while, if that’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” Johnny says softly. “How about we run a bath?”</p><p> </p><p>They use a pretty pink bath bomb, the big, hollow kind that has dried roses inside. Taeyong’s glad even suffering from hanahaki the way they did can’t turn them away from the beauty of flowers, and he swishes a loose petal back and forth between his palms while Johnny lights some candles. They just sort of lean against each other, talking softly. If this was another day, Taeyong has the feeling the night would lead elsewhere, but they both seem a bit tired tonight, so Taeyong is happy when the bath ends with a chaste kiss as Johnny hands him his towel. They cuddle up under the blankets together, lights off and shades drawn. Johnny presses soft kisses to the top of Taeyong’s head, hands running up and down his back, and Taeyong finds himself lulled to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>When he dreams, though, it’s like it’s been these last few nights. Taeyong finds himself coughing up flowers again, and when he presents the marigolds to Johnny in confusion, Johnny just looks away and mutters an apology. Taeyong is alone once again, with only his parents to care for him. The fevers are back, and with it, terrible visions, and Taeyong wakes up gasping, near tears.</p><p> </p><p>The dreams are getting worse and worse. He slips from the bed and pads into the bathroom, chest still heaving, cold sweat on his back. He splashes a little water on his face, tries to steady his breathing, but nothing works. He watches his eyes in the mirror—wide, terrified, and so sad. And then Johnny is there beside him, sleepy and worried, and Taeyong gives in to sobs, pressing his face into Johnny’s chest.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny guides him down the stairs and into the kitchen, wrapping a robe around him as they go. He lights a fire under the kettle and then sits down beside him, taking his hands in his. “Taeyong, baby,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>It takes another couple moments for Taeyong to calm down enough to respond. “I’ve been having nightmares lately,” he whispers finally. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Johnny says. “It’s not your fault. I figured, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been getting up at odd hours for the past couple weeks,” Johnny says.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” Taeyong repeats. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I always try to be quiet.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Johnny soothes, running his fingers over Taeyong’s knuckles. “I just always feel it when you leave.” He leans in and kisses Taeyong’s forehead. “Will you tell me about your dreams?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong sighs shakily. “I dream… I dream that I have hanahaki again. That you don’t love me anymore. That I—that I die, alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, baby.” Johnny folds Taeyong into his chest, rubbing his back. “I promise that’s not going to happen. I love you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Taeyong says miserably. “I love you too. I <em> know</em>. It’s just—I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny releases him; the kettle is boiling. “Is this why you’ve been so interested in a cure?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong nods. “Partially. Just—just in case. Regardless, I think if I do it, I’ll be able to sleep at night.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny chuckles softly, placing a steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of Taeyong. “Drink it,” he says gently, taking his seat again. “If that’s what you need, then I’ll support it. But Taeyong, I’m not going to let that happen to you. I meant what I said. I’ve loved you my whole life, more or less. It would be silly to stop now.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong takes a sip of the tea. It does its job; he feels warmed, and calmed. “I know,” he says again. “I just—I <em> need </em>to, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s okay.” Johnny finds his eyes; his gaze is kind and loving. “You’ll be able to. But right now, why don’t you finish your tea so we can get a little more sleep? Is that okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Taeyong says. He sets his mug down and leans in to kiss Johnny; slow and sweet and soft. “Thank you,” he says quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“For what?” Johnny sounds amused.</p><p> </p><p>“For—all this,” Taeyong mutters, not really sure what he’s trying to say. “Putting up with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not putting up with you, dumbass,” Johnny says. “Loving you is not a chore.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s heart is full; he has no idea how to respond to that. But Johnny just squeezes his hand and gives him a smile, and it’s all he needs. He drains the rest of the tea from the mug and stands. “Let’s go back to bed,” he says, and Johnny follows him back upstairs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u for reading! sorry this is so late today, i posted it to my beta readers a little late so it only just got edited.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. ginkgo biloba</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Taeyong and Gyunghui have been working together for weeks now. Sometimes Gyunghui comes to Taeyong, but more often Taeyong finds himself in the woods. He doesn’t mind the hike; he knows the way well by now, and can sort of let his feet take him to the cottage while his mind wanders.</p><p> </p><p>They’re close now; he’s sure of it. It’s hard, because they don’t have anybody to test it on (and Taeyong’s honestly still not sure about the ethics of that; Eunyong had one of her lawyer friends draw up a consent form, but it only made Taeyong feel a little bit better), but they’ve come up with a mini ritual, as well as a little elixir for the patient to take home and drink a week later. The patient would have to come back every two weeks by their figuring, which isn’t very convenient, but—well. It’s better than nothing, Taeyong supposes.</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui is waiting for him in her front doorway when he finally emerges from the undergrowth. “Taeyong!” she calls. “I got a message from an old friend! Someone in her town asked if she could help with their case. She referred them to us!”</p><p> </p><p>“What, right now?” Taeyong asks, feeling a shock of anxiety run up his spine.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” There’s laughter in Gyunghui’s voice. “Tomorrow. They’ll come to us. They’re not that far along, so travel won’t be hard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Taeyong relaxes a little bit, stepping up onto the porch. “Well, we’d better prepare.”</p><p> </p><p>They spend all day going over the ritual, gathering materials, and running through everything they’ve done to make sure there’s nothing they’re missing. They make the elixir beforehand—just a concoction of goldenrod, dandelion leaf, and lavender brewed in water. Taeyong stays late; he calls Johnny to let him know he won’t be home for dinner, and walks back in the dark. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t say anything to Johnny, but Johnny seems to know, anyway. He pulls him close in bed, pressing his lips to the back of his head, and murmurs against his hair, “No matter what happens, it’s going to be okay. You’re doing something no one else can, and that’s enough.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong shivers. He wishes it were true.</p><p> </p><p>The next morning dawns cold and rainy. Johnny wakes early with him; he’s taking a half day at the bakery so he’ll be home when Taeyong is done. He offers to take the day off completely and come with him, but Taeyong declines. He doesn’t want to overwhelm their patient, and he doesn’t want Johnny to have to watch if they fail. He lets Johnny kiss him for good luck, and then he hurries off into the mist, bundled in a raincoat.</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui already has everything set up when he arrives; she offers him tea, which he sips while they both sort of fidget with things that are already in place as they wait. And then, the doorbell rings, and they both lurch to their feet.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Jihye,” Gyunghui greets warmly. “Come in out of the rain. This is Taeyong.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” Taeyong says softly, bowing first to Jihye, and then the boy behind her. He looks around high school aged; Taeyong can see the fear shifting under the surface of his expression. It’s almost like looking in a mirror.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s good to meet you, Taeyong,” Jihye says. “This is Siwoo.”</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome, Siwoo. Please, let’s all sit and have some tea while we discuss the treatment.” Gyunghui leads them into the kitchen. Taeyong offers Siwoo a smile, which he barely returns. Gyunghui brings her glass teapot to the table and puts it in the center next to some scones, gesturing for everyone to take a seat. “I have to warn you, Siwoo, this isn’t something we’ve tried on anybody else. We have a little consent form for you to sign, detailing the risks, but the gist is that this is untested, and could potentially worsen your condition.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not entirely untested, though, is it?” Jihye pipes up. “Didn’t you try something similar on Taeyong?”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong cringes, while Gyunghui sends her a sharp look. “Vaguely similar,” Gyunghui says. “And it didn’t work.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then—how is Taeyong here?” Siwoo asks, brow furrowed.</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui continues glaring at Jihye. “He got lucky. His love was returned.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Siwoo stares down into his teacup, frown deepening. </p><p> </p><p>“This treatment is much different, though,” Gyunghui says briskly. “We’ll perform a quick ritual, using a white candle anointed in eucalyptus essential oil and citronella incense, and then we send you home with a little elixir to drink in a week, to keep the flowers small and weak. You’re to come back in two weeks’ time.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t know if it will work,” Taeyong emphasizes. “Please understand that. It could speed things along instead; it won’t create any new problems, but it may only make your flowers more resilient.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m willing to try it,” Siwoo says. Taeyong sees the same fierce determination there that he felt three years ago, sitting in this very kitchen. He deflates a little; as long as Siwoo knows what he’s in for, Taeyong can’t stop him. “But—I don’t know how I’m going to pay you,” Siwoo continues. “I have a job, but I don’t think it’s enough.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, please,” Gyunghui says. “We’re not going to charge you. We don’t even know if it works. If anything, we should be paying you.”</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo flushes a little. “No, that doesn’t seem right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then we’ll agree that it’s an even exchange,” Gyunghui says, nodding. “Do you have any questions?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” He shakes his head. “So I sign here? Can I have a pen?”</p><p> </p><p>“Here.” Taeyong hands it to him, and then gives him a copy of the form when he does. “Okay, should we move this upstairs?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Gyunghui sweeps her skirt up, standing, and Jihye stands, too, quickly attaching herself to her side, and no doubt muttering apologies. Taeyong pushes himself to his feet and waits for Siwoo.</p><p> </p><p>“You had it, too?” Siwoo asks as they trail behind the women.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, a few years ago,” Taeyong says. “I would’ve let it kill me, so I get it. Not wanting to get the surgery.”</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo nods. “But you ended up okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“My—my husband, he also had hanahaki disease, for me. We just didn’t know at the time,” Taeyong explains, feeling a little awkward. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. I really hope this works. I don’t want what almost happened to me to happen to someone else.”</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo rolls his eyes, letting out one shaky cough. “How noble of you.” His tone is deeply sarcastic; without another word, he faces forward and takes the stairs two at a time, leaving Taeyong behind.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong is shocked for a moment, but then he just sighs. <em> Not everybody reacts to fear with sadness</em>, he reminds himself. <em> Not everyone is like you. Siwoo has every right to be angry, especially when someone like you is standing right in front of him. </em></p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui has a little treatment table set up; she casts the circle as usual while Taeyong stands by with the supplies. Jihye watches, holding Siwoo’s shirt and jacket, absently worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. When the circle is cast, Taeyong brings the small anointed candle and lit incense to Siwoo, with Gyunghui on the other side. She murmurs the banishing incantation (some form of “illness be gone”, over and over), and takes some of the ash from the incense that’s collected in the tray and spreads it across his chest. Taeyong holds the candle and incense over Siwoo, and Gyunghui supports his hands with hers. They both continue to chant quietly to themselves until the candle is burnt out. </p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui closes the circle, snuffing out the candles as she goes. The room is dim, and when the last candle is out, Siwoo sits up slowly.</p><p> </p><p>They are silent, watching him. A minute passes; Taeyong sets down the candle holder and the incense burner on the counter.</p><p> </p><p>“Did it work?” Jihye asks quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” Gyunghui replies. “We’ll see, I suppose.” She hands Siwoo the elixir—a pretty little glass bottle with a cork stopper. “Why don’t we have some lunch? At least stay for a couple of hours so we can monitor Siwoo for a while.”</p><p> </p><p>“Siwoo?” Jihye asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Siwoo replies, and leads them all back downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong is cutting vegetables at the sink, back to the room, when he hears it. Siwoo begins to cough. It’s not the dry cough he heard earlier, before the ritual, but deep and resounding. Taeyong jumps, slicing his thumb with the knife in his shock, and whirls to see Siwoo bent over. <em> Maybe it’ll be dead flowers, </em> Taeyong thinks, clinging to hope. <em> Not the roots, but surely the petals. And then we’ll know. And everything will be okay. </em></p><p> </p><p>Siwoo raises his head, and Taeyong sees crumpled pink azaleas in his palms. His eyes are burning with fury and grief. “It didn’t work,” he spits, and Taeyong feels the raw helplessness in his voice rake across his heart, a familiar echo. Siwoo whirls around and hurries out of the room. Taeyong hears the front door slam, and a few moments later, a muffled scream.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go after him,” Jihye says quickly, rushing out as well.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong looks at Gyunghui, and she just shakes her head. “I don’t know what we did wrong,” she murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t, either.” Taeyong feels empty. He’s glad Siwoo is angry, in any case. It’s better than forgiveness. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you’re bleeding!” Gyunghui grabs a napkin and crosses the room to him, taking his hand and wrapping the paper around his thumb where he cut himself. Taeyong watches numbly as she presses on the wound to stop the bleeding. They stand there for a minute, listening to the rain on the roof. Taeyong’s breath is coming short; he knows it’s just panic, but the panic is, of course, convincing him it’s something worse. Gyunghui guides him to a chair and sits him down. “You’re okay,” she says softly. “I should’ve sent you home right away. You didn’t need to see that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” Taeyong forces out, desperately trying to control his breathing. “I’m just disappointed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Gyunghui says, tone placating. “Once they’re gone, I’ll walk you home.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s breathing gradually slows; his thumb gradually stops bleeding. He’s just finished wrapping a bandaid around it when Jihye comes back in. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says. “I hope you can understand that he’s just really upset.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” Gyunghui says. “I know it won’t mean much to him, but please tell him we’re sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will.” Jihye pauses in the doorway. “Thank you for trying. You did more for him than I could.”</p><p> </p><p>“Get home safe,” Gyunghui says.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong watches Gyunghui clean up the kitchen, unable to convince himself to move and help. Gyunghui doesn’t seem to mind, though; when she’s done, she helps him into his coat and gestures him out the door. </p><p> </p><p>He stands on her porch, adjusting his hood while he waits for her to lock her door. Glancing around, he notices some shattered glass in the corner by the steps. Looking closer, he sees the wet lavender buds and dandelion leaves mixed with the deep yellow of the goldenrod. It’s clear Siwoo had smashed the bottle of elixir in anger.</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui walks Taeyong home in the rain. He feels little again, like when Eunyong would come pick him up from school after a difficult day. She wouldn’t speak, but she’d link their arms, and Taeyong would close his eyes and let her drag him all the way back to their front door. Now, he just keeps his head down, watching the heels of Gyunghui’s boots as she leads him out of the forest and onto the road.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is in the kitchen, stirring something in a large pot when he opens the door. He takes one look at Taeyong and presses his lips together, turning the fire off and placing the lid on the pot. “Thanks, Gyunghui,” he says, waving. </p><p> </p><p>“Have a good rest of your day,” Gyunghui says, voice soft. She closes the door behind Taeyong.</p><p>Johnny is at his side in an instant, tugging him free of his wet raincoat and then folding him into his sturdy chest.</p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“We—” Taeyong begins to say, but he can’t finish the sentence. He starts crying, and Johnny just makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat and walks them over to the living room where they both sit on the couch. Taeyong buries his face in Johnny’s shoulder while Johnny tucks a soft blanket around him.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Johnny says. “You have plenty of time to get it right. It’s not your job to save everybody, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“He was so angry,” Taeyong whispers. “I felt so horrible—how could I stand there and tell him I understood? Offer him some shoddy cure, flaunting my happy ending in his face?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what you’re doing,” Johnny soothes. “Of course he’s angry. I know I was. You were too, though you didn’t really show it. But that doesn’t mean he’s angry <em> at you </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just wish I knew what we were missing,” Taeyong says. “We used so many different healing agents. The flowers should’ve been withered when he coughed them up.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Johnny repeats. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You can’t blame yourself, though. It’s this stupid, evil disease.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong blinks. “We need something to keep out the bad things—not just things for health and cleansing, but something to banish evil,” he says. “We need something harsh, to kill off the flowers.” He looks wildly at Johnny, who only gives him a confused look in return. “Myrrh. Myrrh incense, I think that’s it.” Taeyong shakes the blanket off and presses a swift kiss to Johnny’s lips. “Sorry, I know I sound insane. I’m gonna chase after Gyunghui, she can’t have gotten far. I’ll be back in a few.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh—okay.” Johnny watches him, bewildered, as he struggles into his shoes and a coat.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong runs down the lane and out onto the street. He sees Gyunghui rounding the corner, and he pelts after her. “Wait, Gyunghui!” He turns the corner too, and sees her stopped in her tracks. “Wait, I just thought of something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?” </p><p> </p><p>He draws up to her, panting. “We’re missing something to banish the sickness—something to make the flowers wilt. I was thinking myrrh. We could use incense, mix it with the citronella.”</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui’s eyes grow wide. “I think you’re right,” she says. “I’m going to go call Jihye, see if Siwoo will give us another chance.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want me to come back with you?” Taeyong asks.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Gyunghui laughs. “All we can do is wait. I’ll phone you if anything changes. No, go spend some time with Johnny. We’ve been so busy with this, and it’s fine for me, because I live alone, but I can tell he misses you. He loves you a lot, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Taeyong replies. “Okay, let me know.” </p><p> </p><p>He walks back home as fast as he can. Johnny’s back to cooking; he gives Taeyong a bemused smile when he reenters the house. “Everything okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think we’ve done it,” Taeyong replies. “We’ll have to wait and see—but I think maybe this time it’s right.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope so,” Johnny says. “Come help me set the table. Lunch is ready.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong just laughs, and pauses to give Johnny another kiss on his way to retrieve bowls from the cupboard.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo declines their request to try again. Taeyong can’t really blame him, but it’s disheartening all the same. This time, he’s sure they’re sitting on the cure, but they don’t have anyone to help them confirm it. And then, Taeyong’s closing up the flower shop when the bell jingles and someone enters.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, we’re closed for the day,” he says without looking up.</p><p> </p><p>“Taeyong?” It’s a familiar voice; Taeyong pops his head up from behind the counter and sees Taeil’s younger sister, Taehui, shifting from foot to foot just inside the door. “Can I talk to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sure.” Taeyong dusts off his hands. “What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I heard—I heard you have a cure for hanahaki disease,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not quite a cure, and we don’t know if it works, but essentially, yes. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in love,” she says, giving him a pleading look. “And she doesn’t love me back, and I don’t want the surgery, but I also don’t want to die, so I thought—please don’t tell Taeil.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t,” Taeyong assures her. “You probably should. So, no one knows?”</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head. “I know it’s silly, since I’m a bit old for this nonsense, but—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not silly,” Taeyong assures her. “Let me call Gyunghui—we have all the supplies at her place—and then we can walk to her cottage together and see what we can do for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong talks to Gyunghui as he finishes closing up shop. She says she’ll put everything in order and let Johnny know what’s happening, so once he’s finished, he locks up and leads Taehui into the woods. It’s getting a little late, so the sun is setting, but luckily Taehui isn’t too ill yet, so she keeps up with Taeyong’s pace.</p><p> </p><p>They run her through the same warnings, though Taeyong knows she’s already well aware. Once she’s signed the form, they bring her upstairs and run through the same ritual. While Gyunghui is casting the circle, Taeyong stands at Taehui’s side and holds her hand. She squeezes, giving him a weak smile. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong balances the two sticks of incense in one hand, candle clutched in the other, and chants again with Gyunghui. He visualizes the flowers wilting and hopes with all his heart it works. </p><p> </p><p>The room is dark by the time they’re done and Gyunghui has blown out all the candles. Taeyong helps Taehui back down the stairs, and they drink tea quietly while they wait. “If nothing happens for a couple hours, Taeyong will just walk you home,” Gyunghui tells her. “And you’ll just check in with him over the next few days.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like with Siwoo, not twenty minutes after they completed the ritual, Taehui starts coughing. Taeyong freezes, watching anxiously, but when the coughs subside, Taehui is smiling. In her hands are wilted lotus petals, small and frail, already browning at the edges. “They were full and strong this morning,” she says, eyes shining.</p><p> </p><p>They all stare for a second, and then Gyunghui squeals and hugs Taeyong around the shoulders. Taeyong laughs when her hair tickles his chin, and then he can’t stop laughing. Taehui is giggling too, partially in disbelief. The sound of their joy drowns out the whistling of the kettle.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong escorts Taehui home, making her promise to come see him in the shop in a couple of days to check in. “Remember to take your elixir in a week!” he adds, waving as she walks down to her house.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is waiting anxiously at home, sipping a decaf coffee at their table, leftovers coasting in the oven. He searches Taeyong’s face when he comes in; Taeyong takes his time hanging up his coat, trying to contain his glee.</p><p> </p><p>“Well?” Johnny asks.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong turns to him, a grin spreading across his face. “We can’t be sure quite yet—but I think it worked. I think we did it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re joking.” Johnny sets down his mug and sweeps Taeyong up in a hug. Taeyong shakes his head, giggling when Johnny kisses his nose. “You’re joking! That’s amazing news!” They trip over each other’s legs and Taeyong ends up pressed between Johnny and the kitchen counter. “You’re so smart,” Johnny says softly. “Can’t believe I’m married to the best witch in the world.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, that’s so disrespectful to Gyunghui, and also, like, your own mother,” Taeyong says, laughing and pushing him away. “You can shower me with love later. I’m hungry.”</p><p> </p><p>Taehui comes to check in multiple times over the next couple of weeks, but her condition remains stable. The elixir seems to do its job, and the follow-up ritual goes smoothly as well. She’s not cured, but the progress of the flowers is halted. She’ll live well, and maybe get over her love and find someone else who loves her back. </p><p> </p><p>One day, a few weeks later, Taeyong receives a call from Gyunghui when he’s at the shop with his mom. “Hey, are you free?” she asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I can be,” Taeyong says, glancing around the relatively empty shop. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Siwoo is here. Jihye told him about our success and he wants to try again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Taeyong almost drops the phone. “Yeah, I can be there in thirty minutes. Let me just tell my mom.” He hangs up, and gets his mother’s attention. “We have a patient,” he explains. “Gyunghui needs my help. Will you be okay here?”</p><p> </p><p>His mother smiles kindly. “I’ll be fine.” </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong rushes to Gyunghui’s cottage, tripping over tree roots as he goes. The front door is unlocked when he arrives, and Gyunghui is, as usual, serving tea in the kitchen. She puts the pot down when she sees him. “Wonderful. Let’s begin.”</p><p> </p><p>As she casts the circle, Taeyong hovers awkwardly by Siwoo. </p><p> </p><p>“Will it hurt?” Siwoo asks, voice uncharacteristically small.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Taeyong says. “If it does, you should tell us.”</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo nods. “I’m sorry I was so angry,” he says. “I was just scared.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Taeyong replies, giving him a smile. “It’s okay to be afraid. You’d be kind of stupid not to be, you know?” Siwoo huffs out a breath of laughter. “But you don’t get to give up.”</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo nods again, firmly, as Gyunghui finishes casting the circle and joins Taeyong at his side. Taeyong watches Siwoo’s face the whole time, trusting Gyunghui to keep the candle and the sticks of incense balanced in his palms.</p><p> </p><p>And when Siwoo coughs up his azaleas, they’re brown and dead. He disposes of them and goes out to the porch to cry. Taeyong waits a few minutes, and then follows. He sits down beside him on the front steps, silent.</p><p> </p><p>“Her name is Hana,” Siwoo says. “Everyone has a crush on her. But I love her.” He looks at Taeyong. “What’s your husband’s name?”</p><p> </p><p>“His name is Johnny,” Taeyong says. “He’s been my best friend since kindergarten. I love him more than my life.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you had this cure, do you think you could’ve ever gotten over him?” Siwoo asks.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” Taeyong replies honestly. “Maybe. I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, so perhaps not. But I remember thinking I would be okay with loving him and getting nothing in return, if I wasn’t dying for it. Is that how you feel?”</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “But at least now I have the time to figure it out.” His eyes flick back to Taeyong’s. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just glad we could help,” Taeyong says. “Even though the first time went poorly.”</p><p> </p><p>Siwoo gives him a sort of lopsided grin. “Tell your husband he’s lucky,” he says. “You’re too kind for your own good.”</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong just laughs. “So I’ve been told,” he says, tone dry.</p><p> </p><p>= = =</p><p> </p><p>Gyunghui has been sending their work off to academics to get it legitimized so it can become common practice. She’s put Taeyong’s name on it, but honestly, Taeyong doesn’t mind if he gets credit or not. It’s enough to pass Taehui on the street and see her smiling; it’s enough to know that soon, no one else will have to worry about it ever again. </p><p> </p><p>Taeyong’s nightmares are gone. He wakes up warm and peaceful, and goes to bed happy and comfortable. He has so many days ahead of him. His life is good, and he’s loved.</p><p> </p><p>There are days where he sleeps late and Johnny wakes him with kisses, and the scent of coffee permeates the whole house. Johnny brings him breakfast in bed and Taeyong counts the freckles on his arms; they don’t get dressed until noon, and then they go to the market arm in arm to get lunch. Maybe one day they’ll have children, and those children will join them on these late morning walks. They’ll live without fear; they’ll grow and they’ll love and Johnny will be next to Taeyong through it all. Even when they’re old. Taeyong with his flowers, Johnny with his bakery. They’ll see a rosebush, and it won’t remind them of the thorns. They’ll catch the scent of lilies, and it won’t remind them of the blood.</p><p> </p><p>Taeyong watches Johnny trace the lines on his palms. He closes his hand around Johnny’s, and bends to kiss his knuckles. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Johnny’s tone is light and playful. “You look serious.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing,” Taeyong says. “I’m just happy.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>um the way this is like 50k oops well! thank u to everyone who read this! I wasn't expecting this one to gain any traction whatsoever i was really just having fun so to the few of u who were along for the ride, i appreciate you!</p><p>Please take my survey <a href="https://forms.gle/yiKFt8xEenf9FWVj6">here</a> to tell me what you're interested in seeing next! as always, you can also shoot me a message on my <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">tumblr</a>!</p><p>I'll be writing more for this series eventually, i'm just not sure when ^^ in the meantime, please feel free to check out my other works, and also give some love to the second installment by my lovely friend margot!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>stay tuned for other works in this series! <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfeggso">my friend</a> and I are collaborating on it, so hers will be up at some point soon!</p><p>please feel free to check out my other works as well ^^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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